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Viewing Blog: Meg Cabot, Most Recent at Top

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Meg has published almost forty novels for younger readers as well as adults, including The Princess Diaries series (on which two hit feature films by Disney were based), The Mediator series, and the 1-800-WHERE-R-YOU series (on which the television series, Missing, currently being broadcast Saturday nights on the Lifetime network, is based).

Today is the official wedding day of Mia and Michael (according to the royal invitation in Princess Diaries #11, Royal Wedding).

To celebrate, I’m drinking trying to be a little kinder to everyone I know (including myself). As Mia mentions in the book, the reason people love weddings (and brides) so much is because they’re symbols of hopefulness in a world that sometimes seems filled with sadness and despair.

So here’s a link to Mia and Michael’s Wedding Play List. Dance along with me and all the other wedding guests as I update you on all the crazy things that have been going on, and hopefully, in doing so, spread a little cheer along the way!

So many readers! So many post-its!

I had a blast seeing so many of you on my book tour, from the RT Booklovers Convention in Dallas, TX, where I made new friends…

(Authors Charlaine Harris, Kathy Reichs, and me.)

…and caught up with old ones….

(Yes, you are seeing correctly: Tiny Jamie from Outlander was at Mia’s bridal shower.)

…to Columbia, SC, where I did the first of my many dramatic readings from the new books…

…to the most amazing middle school in Illinois where Beth Stephens, the kindest librarian EVER, made me a Princess Olivia necklace and MEG CABOT BOOK CHOCOLATES (most of which I ate before I could photograph their splendor)…

…to BookCon in NYC where I met a ton of new fans (and got re-acquainted with a few I’ve known and loved for a while)!

…and even ended up sitting next to Nick Offerman from Parks and Rec….

(Though I didn’t recognize him, because he shaved off his mustache.)

And so many places in between!

All of you managed to put Royal Wedding on both the USA Today AND New York Times bestseller lists, as well as introduce a whole new generation of readers to a brand new Genovian princess. I can’t thank you enough! You’re ALL princesses (and princes) of Genovia!

(This photo courtesy of Buzzfeed, which gif’d me, then quizzed me. If you don’t know what I mean, click on the links.)

If Royal Wedding and Notebooks haven’t come to your country yet, don’t worry, they’ll be there soon. Here’s the latest on release dates (with more coming soon):

July 2, 2015 (UK/Aus/NZ)

August/September 2105 (France)

October 2015 (Brazil)

December 2015 (Indonesia)

Spring 2016 (Japan)

Spring 2016 (Czech)

Starting next month, the entire Princess Diaries series will also be re-released in the UK, with these fab new covers and a new introduction by me!

And though I’m home now (after a month away. HWSNBNITB’s cat has been giving me the evil eye since she really enjoyed having him all to herself while I was gone ), happily for the cat, I’ll be in many other places (and countries) soon!

Come see me at 7PM on July 1 at Books and Books in Coral Gables, FL. This event will also be LIVE STREAMED so even if you don’t live in the area, you can drop by via the WONDER OF THE INTERNET. Check my Twitter/FB feed for updates, and click here often to find out when/where I’ll visiting somewhere close to you (either live or online).

In the meantime, tons of you have been asking if the Princess Diaries 3 movie rumors are true. Sadly, I can’t comment except to say I think it would be great if it happened, because the world needs more movies/stories with strong female role models. (Speaking of which, go see the movie Spy starring Melissa McCarthy!) Until then, we’ll just have to wait and see.

Miracles Happen!

The same answer goes for whether or not there’ll be a sequel to Royal Wedding. I’d love to do one, but right now I’m working on a new middle grade book featuring Princess Olivia–Royal Disaster–that will be out next summer! All of the characters from the first Notebook will be in the 2nd….as well as a certain royal bride:

And as you know, Remembrance, Mediator 7, will be out 2/14/2016. As I’m also working on a new book told entirely in texts and emails (a stand alone, but part of the Boy series), I’m pretty busy on the book-writing front!

Photo by Kathryn Wirsing

Here’s the official book trailer for Royal Wedding to tide us all over for now. Please notice how much it features Lars, which I love!

I can’t believe it’s been a decade and a half since we first met that so not-ready-for-royalty princess, Mia Thermopolis, and six years since we last saw a book about about her! She–and we–have come a long way since then, from barely passing Algebra, to that first kiss from Michael, to saving Genovia, her kingdom, from financial ruin!

And now they’re here at last: Royal Wedding, the first adult installment in the series that so many readers have been waiting for (and those who aren’t familiar with Mia’s secret diaries will enjoy, too), along with the first middle grade installment (with illustrations by ME!) for younger readers about a brand new member of the Genovian royal family, From the Notebooks of Middle School Princess.

I hope you’ll enjoy this trip back to Genovia! Long live us all, because we’re ALL Genovian princesses, in our hearts!

A: Authors (like princesses and vampires) can only go where we’re invited, so if I’m not coming to a place near you, it’s because no one (official) asked. I’m so sorry! Maybe next time.

Q: Can I bring books from home for you to sign?

A: It’s really up to the venue. It costs money to fly me to these events, so the venue needs you to buy at least one book at the event. If you do, they might allow me to sign two or more of your books from home. It’s a great idea to contact the venue in advance to ask!

Q: Will you sign other things besides books?

A: Like what? Probably not, that is just weird.

Q: Can I get a selfie with you?

A: If it’s OK with the venue, it’s OK with me.

Q: Can I bring my tiara?

A: Tiaras are strongly encouraged.

That’s it for now! When I get more info, I’ll be sure to add it. Check my Twitter and FB pages for the absolute LATEST updates!

Spring is here!

I know because these have arrived . . . .

Oops, no, not those. Silly me. I meant these:

Advanced reader copies of Princess Diaries #11, Royal Wedding, and From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess!

I’m so excited it’s finally here…the 15th Birthday of the publication of The Princess Diaries series, and with it, the first ever ADULT book in the series, and the first ever middle grade book about a whole new princess, for a whole new generation of readers!

If you want a chance to win free copies of these ARCS, enter here by May 1! Or here by April 25!

There’s an even more sensational contest happening here, where you can win not only books, but a $2500 makeover for your bedroom fit for a royal! (You have to be under 14 in order to enter, so sorry, Mom, you’re disqualified…also you can’t be related to me, I already checked).

We’re also giving away official Olivia Grace tiaras like the one pictured left (only limited supplies were made). Click here (especially if you’re an international reader…this one is open to you, too. I wish ALL of these contests were open to international readers, but it is very difficult to send bedroom sets overseas. We even have problems getting ARCs to readers overseas).

But never fear if you don’t win any of these contests! Because there’s a 100% guaranteed way you can get your hands on copies of these books:

“whirlwind of jaw-dropping, hilarious, and occasionally touching events. Original fans of the series, now adults themselves, will be thrilled with this, but it will be enjoyable for those on either side of Cabot’s extensive fan base.”

Just when I thought it couldn’t get better, Publishers Weekly declared that:

From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess is both amusing and entertaining, and Royal Wedding is “pure fun,” going on to say, “Readers who first discovered Cabot’s Princess books as teens will enjoy seeing Mia and Michael all grown up, and new readers will enjoy this sweet contemporary tale. Since this is being billed as the final book in the series, one hopes that Cabot will reconsider and write more of Mia and Michael’s story . . . .”

I have to admit right now I’m hard at work at the moment on sequels of another kind:

The next installment of the Olivia Grace, Middle School Princess series (which will be out next year)!

Revisions for the 7th Mediator novel, Remembrance (which will be available February 14, 2016).

Hard at work, that is, when a certain someone will allow it:

(I know my office looks like something out of a hospital ward, but I write in bed, and writing is thirsty work.)

But I’m certainly considering PW‘s advice about some new works featuring Mia and Michael (now that they’ve put it into my head).

In the meantime, I’m also recovering from the massive cold I acquired during our trip last month to Italy (He Who Shall Not Be Named In This Blog and I just celebrated our 22nd wedding anniversary there)!

Just one of our many His and Hers Lunch in Italy. I had no problem finding gluten-free food there!

I also visited the Bologna Book Fair for the first time last month. Perhaps you read about it in PW? I threw a big 15th Anniversary dinner for The Princess Diaries to thank all of the series’ foreign publishers for their support over the years! It was so fun.

Meg with a certain editor at a certain Brazilian publisher

The MacMillan Middle School Princess party in Bologna!

I’m so excited to continue my tour for Royal Wedding and From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess next month. I’ll post the exact times/places I’ll be visiting as soon as I have a final itinerary, but here’s a sneak peek at my schedule so far.

Meanwhile, I have to get back to work so I can finish up all of these new books before I hit the road!

But I can’t resist posting one last contest: Click here to register to win this matted 8 1/2 x 11 portrait I drew (medium: pencil) of the artist (ME!) pouring Ball-Gown-In-A-Box on Cinderella so she can go to the ball and charm the socks off everybody. All funds for the portrait go to raise money for literacy!

I can’t believe it, but it’s true. 2015 marks the 15th anniversary of the publication of the first book in The Princess Diaries series!

I know. You were just a baby back then. So was I! Look at my rosy cheeks!

Ha ha ha. Okay, so that photo totally isn’t from 2000. I don’t have any digital photos of myself from the year 2000!

As regular readers of this blog know, to celebrate the 15th Anniversary of The Princess Diaries, we’re going to be having all sorts of amazing events, contests, and give-aways leading up to two new books in the series that will be released in a mere 100 hundred days (give or take a few)!

In FROM THE NOTEBOOKS OF A MIDDLE SCHOOL PRINCESS, you’ll be able to introduce the younger readers in your life to the world of the Princess Diaries (and Genovia) through a fun new heroine – 12 year old Olivia Grace! Coming on May 19, 2015.Visit Page| Read Excerpt | Follow Princess Diaries |

I totally know what some of you are going to ask now:

“Where can I get an ARC* of these books?”

*An ARC is an “advanced reader copy” of a book that publishers sometimes make from the version of your book called the “uncorrected proof.” Authors try to destroy as many ARCs as possible because who the hell wants copies of their book out there with mistakes in it???? are very thankful for this and only wish they had enough ARCs for everyone!

But if you’re a librarian attending ALA Midwinter in Chicago in February, I’ve been told there will be ARCs there. I will be there, too, because my goal of course is to try to destroy as many copies as possible before my publicist asks, “Meg, why are you standing in that Dumpster?” graciously autograph as many possible. I can’t wait to see you!

Where else will I be in the coming months attempting to stuff my ARCs into recycling bins before unsuspecting readers can be harmed by them signing ARCs (and of course my books that have actually been proofed)?

Meanwhile, don’t forget . . . on February 14, 2016 (I know . . . more than a YEAR from now!) I have a very special Valentine’s Day gift for Mediator fans (and readers everywhere)! I just want you to be prepared, because it’s going to be HOT.

Until then — for instance, for THIS Valentine’s Day — you know what you can do for yourself? BESIDES go see the Fifty Shades of Grey movie, which I know you’re all doing, because I’m doing it, too (with a ton of friends and a bottle of wine, of course):

Check out the brand new e-versions of my steamy Patricia Cabot novels which have just been released by MacMillan!

Yes! Originally only published in paperback under my pen name “Patricia Cabot” (so my grandmother wouldn’t find out I was writing “naughty books”), these are now available for the first time electronically, everywhere ebooks are sold!

(And FYI, Grandma DID find out! And they turned out to be her favorites! Who knows, they could turn out to be your favorites, too!)

I would like to thank you Chicagoans (and librarians) in advance for letting me spend my birthday with you! I also think it was very sweet of you to invite Katy Perry to sing on my birthday. I love her! (Some people say she’s only doing it for the Superbowl but those of us born on February 1 – hi, Princess Stephanie of Monaco! – know the truth – that she’s really doing it for us!)

You guys are the best! Thanks so much for pitching in to already make 2015 our best year yet!!!! XOXOXOX!!!!

If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you know I’m pretty honest. There are some things I can’t say online because I try to be princessy, and princesses aren’t rude (to people’s faces).

But I think we can all agree that 2014 was a pretty terrible year. Borrowing from kids’ book author Megan McDonald, I started calling Summer of 2014 the Bummer Summer.

Amidst all the many national and global tragedies that occurred, He Who Shall Not Be Named In This Blog lost his father, and we were forced to put his mother in a nursing home.

And of course the cat, now an only child, has decided to become a solo artist, delighting us with nightly 4AM concertos in the stairwell.

2014 wasn’t all bad, though. Many wonderful people were born, graduated, got jobs, and were married . . . .

(Find the out of town author at the chic wedding in Palm Springs, CA in the photo above ^^^^.)

Some people celebrated 21 year wedding anniversaries . . . .

(He Who Shall Not Be Named In This Blog also refuses to allow his photo in this blog.)

Some people had friends kind enough to take them out on their boats and let them practice driving for when they get their own boats, chasing after rainbows, looking for pots of gold.

But instead of gold, some people may have ended up running their friends’ boats aground.

That’s okay though! Because the thing about chasing after rainbows is that even when you don’t find gold at the end of them, you usually end up finding something.

For me that something was the realization that the most important thing in the world is having good friends (who don’t mind if you run their boat aground). And that home is the place where there’s always a warm drink and someone who’s happy to see you:

2014 was also a great year for me creatively because, since I didn’t have any books coming out, I could concentrate on writing new ones!

Here’s the long awaited COVER REVEAL for ROYAL WEDDING (Princess Diaries XI)!

I can’t WAIT for everyone to read the WHOLE thing when it’s out in stores and e-readers on June 2! (In the US and Canada. Updates on when it will be out in other countries coming soon!) Learn more here.

And for those of you asking for proof that Mia (unlike me) can actually plan a wedding and is not going to elope:

Check out this Royal Wedding Pinterest board that I’ve created (with the help of my immensely talented friend and assistant Ann). Watch Mia and Grandmére duel it out over everything from shoes to bouquets and wedding decor. New fights added weekly.

Before Royal Wedding hits the shelves, though, stay tuned for my first-ever illustrated (by me!) book, FROM THE NOTEBOOKS OF A MIDDLE SCHOOL PRINCESS, which will be in stores on May 19!

Yes! I drew this^^^^!

Middle School Princess will take readers back to Genovia, this time through the illustrated diaries of 12-year-old Olivia Grace, who may or may not be Princess Mia Thermopolis’s long-lost little sister!

Check for more sneak peeks (and chances to win SUPER COOL PRIZES, including advanced reader copies of both Royal Wedding and Middle School Princess) on the Official Princess Diaries page on Facebook. (Accept no substitutes.) A Middle School Princess page is coming soon here!

Middle School Princess was a super fun challenge for me since I couldn’t write it the way I normally do . . . in bed.

Certain people complained I was getting eraser crumbs in the sheets as I was doing my drawings.

So I had to work at my art desk!

Here is a photo of me there:

In reality I do not wear dresses when drawing, I wear yoga pants and very crappy t-shirts. This photo is staged.

I wouldn’t allow a “realistic photo” as I, like Grandmere, am too vain.

If you’re a Mediator fan, don’t think I abandoned you for 2015, though. I handed in the completed manuscript for Mediator 7, Remembrance, way back in July, but the only release date we could all agree was special enough for the book was Valentine’s Day 2016.

I know what you’re thinking. When did Meg get so mushy? I don’t know either.

But even though it’s more than a year away, I promise you it’s going to be worth the wait! I’m hoping this book will be the greatest Valentine’s Day gift Mediator fans—and even readers unfamiliar with the series—will ever receive.

(Well, okay, that might be pushing it. Nothing is better than chocolate.)

In the meantime, I would not be doing my duty as royal spokesperson for the Palace of Genovia if I did not remind everyone that:

As a person who tries to act princessy, I don’t believe in sharing too much of my personal baggage with my readers, especially on my social media. To quote Grandmere in RoyalWedding:

“It’s a royal’s job to entertain and enlighten – not burden – her subjects. Your personal baggage should only be shared with your therapist (or the bell boy, of course).”

However, I sometimes feel like people forget that I have two brothers. One is a white police sergeant. The other is African American.

Look, it’s me! Stuck in the middle. No wonder I became a writer.

So here is my sincerest wish for the holidays. . . and I don’t think it’s much different than the wish of any big sister:

Could we please try to get along? Remember that most people are good at heart.

Let’s give love a chance in 2015.

(Yes, that motorcycle cop dressed as Santa is my brother, and yes, that is his wife, Mrs. Cabot-Claus.)

Back to your regularly scheduled blog:

Books make the perfect stocking stuffer!

And here are some free short stories to enjoy while you’re sipping hot chocolate by the fire (or hanging out on the beach).

We’re slowly putting together my tour schedule for 2015. It’s nowhere close to finalized, but here’s a sneak peek at some of the events I’m booked for so far on tour in 2015!

And finally:

THANK YOU SO MUCH for being the most amazing readers, friends, and family a girl could have! I hope you have the best holidays – and new year – ever!

The holidays are upon us! If you want to give the gift of a Meg Cabot book, and you would like an autographed bookplate to put inside of it (plus fun bookmarks and flyers and postcards etc), for FREE, now is the time you should be sending your self-addressed stamped envelope to my PO Box, letting me know how many you need.

Write to:

Meg Cabot

P.O. Box 4904

Key West, FL 33041-4904

We’ll try to accommodate you as best we can (although it’s getting a bit close to D-Day)!

You can also send books themselves to be personalized, too, but please also enclose an envelope with the postage on them for their return. Depending on when/how you sent your item, we can’t guarantee we will get it back to you by Christmas (especially since our holiday workshop shuts down the 20th due to our travel plans), but we’ll try.

Your local bookseller will be happy to order any books for you that aren’t currently in stock. All you have to do is ask!

Hope you have a great holiday season, and get all your page proofs in on time!

1. Meg’s written over 80 books which have been published in 38 countries, including the US, UK, Brazil, France, Germany, Poland, and Japan, among many others.

2. She has over 25 million books in print.

3. Meg was diagnosed with celiac disease in 2008 (it runs in her family), which is sad because most of her favorite foods have gluten in them.

4. But don’t feel sorry for her because many of Meg’s books have been #1 on the New York Times bestseller list, in addition to being USA Today, Publishers Weekly, and BookSense bestsellers. So she’s doing OK, except for the gluten thing. And there is no gluten in wine.

5. Meg wrote and illustrated her first story at the age of 7. It was called “Benny the Puppy.” Benny’s entire family dies in a freak prairie tornado.

6. Meg’s writing career began in 1998 when her first historical romance for adults, Where Roses Grow Wild, was published under the pen name Patricia Cabot (so Meg’s grandmother wouldn’t know she was writing books with sex in them).

Her grandmother found out, though, so now all Meg’s books are published under her real name.

7. The Princess Diaries was rejected by almost every publisher in North America with the exception of Avon/HarperCollins.

8. The American Library Association called The Princess Diaries: “Like reading a note from your best friend.”

9. Meg met her husband when she was 16, but they didn’t start dating until she was 24. They have been married for over 20 years.

10. Meg’s “Boy” books are popular world wide because of their “short chapters,” “realistic but romantic plots,” and “satisfying” endings. The “Boy” books are told in text, email, and journal format.

11. Meg can name all fifty states in alphabetical order in less than 30 seconds and has won quite a bit of money from people who bet that she could not do so.

12. Meg’s been blogging since 2003. Her post about her experience on 9/11 has been incorporated into the curriculum of some classrooms.

13. Meg’s 1-800-Where-R-You series (now re-titled Vanished) was made into a television series called Missing starring Vivica A Fox and Mark Consuelos. It ran on the Lifetime Channel for 3 seasons.

14. Meg is an insomniac. That’s how she’s written so many books.

15. All author proceeds from Meg’s historical romance novel, Ransom My Heart, are donated to Greenpeace. Meg has also contributed 100% of the proceeds from stories she’s written for anthologies to the Teenage Cancer Trust, War Child, No Strings, Lisa Libraries, Kids Company, the New York Public Libraries, Reading Is Fundamental, The Lower Eastside Girls Club of New York City, First Book, the UN Refugee Agency, and Girls Write Now. To see a complete list of all the books Meg has written, including the anthologies, go here.

16. Meg’s mom was an extra in the Oscar-winning 1979 coming-of-age film Breaking Away. You can read Meg’s mom’s texts to Meg on Meg’s Twitter.

17. The summer of 2015 will mark the 15th Anniversary of The Princess Diaries and Mediator series. To celebrate, Meg will be releasing two new adult sequels: Remembrance, Mediator #7, and Royal Wedding, Princess Diaries #11. A third book, From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess, will also be available, and will introduce a brand new princess. Read more here.

18. The best gift Meg has been given by a fan (so far) is a life-size, papier-mâché replica of Princess Mia’s cat, Fat Louie.

19. Meg is a member of the Author’s Guild, the Screenwriters Guild, The Romance Writers of America, and Literati with Lyme, which helps raise awareness about lyme disease, which Meg contracted in 2002. Meg believes everyone should be tested yearly for lyme, even people like her who hate hiking.

20. Avalon High, a modern re-telling of the myth of Camelot, was a New York Times and Publishers Weekly best seller; selected by the New York Public Library as a “Book for the Teen Age”; named to the Texas Lone Star Reading List; nominated as an ALA Quick Pick for Reluctant Readers, Kentucky Bluegrass Award, Abraham Lincoln Illinois High School Book Award, and YALSA Popular Paperback; and was made into a Disney Channel movie.

21. Meg owns a home in Indiana that was made from two converted barns.

22. Meg enjoys supporting young writers and has judged the Seventeen Magazine Fiction Contest several times.

23. In 1994, when Meg was 26, her father passed away suddenly. He inspired Meg’s own love of genre fiction by reading a mystery novel a day, but he died before he ever read a single one of her published works. Meg hopes he’d enjoy them, especially the Mediator series, which he helped inspire.

25. Meg’s been called“the master of her genre” by Publishers Weekly, but her favorite accomplishment so far is writing books that fans call their favorite “comfort read.” She hopes to continue to keep doing so for a long time.

Every year teachers let me know that the post below about my experience living in Manhattan a few dozen blocks from the World Trade on 9/11 has become part of their classroom curriculum, so I continue to post it annually.

I think it’s especially important to post this year given the fact that the other day I overheard some guy ask: “Why should we care if a few Westerners want to join ISIS? What’s the worst that could happen?”

I’d like to think this guy is just some random butthole, but given a new study I just read that only 54% of the world’s population has ever heard of the Holocaust, I think some people have forgotten about 9/11, or think it was only about “a few buildings” getting blown up, not thousands of normal every day people just like you and me dying in the most horrible ways imaginable simply because they did what most of us do every morning: They went to work.

And now, only 13 years later, another “radical terrorist group” has sprung up in the Middle East. Some Westerners think they aren’t “that much of a threat,” or even that their “cause” has merit. Um, what?

Look, I get it. 9/11 is depressing. This has been a bummer summer. We’d all rather read about the Royal Wedding of Princess Mia and Michael Moscovitz. But it won’t be available until 2015.

And a writer’s job isn’t only to entertain: It’s to record the tragedies of history so they won’t be forgotten and repeated, and also to point out acts of heroism so that they’ll inspire others to act similarly in future events. So read on. There’s tragedy in this, but there’s plenty of inspirational heroism, too, I promise.

Meg’s 9/11 Diary

9/11/01 started out as one of those super nice fall days where the sky was cloudlessly blue and it was just warm enough, but not hot. My LA friends call that “earthquake weather.”

So we probably should have known something awful was going to happen, but most of us didn’t.

My husband had woken up early to go jogging before leaving for work at his job as a financial writer at One Liberty Plaza, which was across the street from the World Trade Center.

He has never been jogging again.

Not being a morning person, I was still asleep in my apartment on 12th Street and 4th Avenue, about a dozen blocks from the Trade Center, when the first plane hit. Our windows were closed and the air conditioning was on. I didn’t hear a thing until my friend Jen called.

Jen: “Look out your window.”

That is when I saw the smoke for the first time.

Me: “What’s happening?”

Jen: “They’re saying a plane hit the Trade Center.”

Me: “But how could the pilot not see it?”

Jen: “I don’t know. Isn’t that near where your husband works?”

It was. I couldn’t see his building from our apartment, but I could see the World Trade Center. The black smoke billowing from it had to be going right into my husband’s busy investment office on the 60th or so floor.

“I better call him to see if he’s okay,” I said, and hung up to do so.

There was no answer at my husband’s office, however, which was crazy, because over a hundred people worked there.

Were they all right? I didn’t know. I couldn’t get through to anyone anywhere. I couldn’t make any outgoing calls from either of my phones that day. For some reason, people could call me, but I couldn’t call anyone else.

It turned out this was due to the massive volume of calls going on in my part of the city that day, both on cell and land lines.

But I didn’t know that then.

Sirens started up. It was the engine from the firehouse directly across the street from my apartment building. It was a very small firehouse, but it was always bustling with activity. All the young, handsome guys used to sit outside it on folding chairs on nice days like the one on 9/11, joshing with the neighbors who were walking their dogs, with my doormen, with the neighborhood kids. The old ladies on my street always brought them cookies.The firemen, in turn, always had treats for the old ladies’ dogs.

Now all the firemen from the station across from my apartment building were hurrying to the fire downtown, throwing on their gear and urgently blaring the horn on their truck.

Every last one of those young, brave boys would be dead in exactly one hour. Their truck would be crushed beyond recognition. That firehouse would sit empty and draped in black bunting for months. No one would be able to look at it without crying.

Of course none of us knew it then.

I turned on New York 1, the local news channel for New York City. Pat Kiernan, my favorite newscaster, was saying that a plane had hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center.

Weird, I thought. Was the pilot drunk? How could someone not see a building that big, and run into it with a plane?

It was right then that Luz, my housekeeper, showed up. I’d forgotten it was Tuesday, the day she comes to clean. When she saw what I was watching, she looked worried.

“I just dropped my son off at his college,” she said. “It’s right next to the World Trade Center.”

“My husband works across the street from the World Trade Center,” I said.

“Is he all right?” Luz wanted to know. “What’s happening down there?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t reach him.”

Luz tried to call her son on his cell phone. She, too, could not get through.

We didn’t know then that our cell servers used towers that were located on top of the World Trade Center, and they all had stopped working due to the intensity of the flames shooting up the building.

We both stood there staring at the TV, not really knowing what to do. It was as we were watching that something weird happened on the TV, right before our eyes:

The OTHER tower at the World Trade Center — the one that hadn’t been hit — suddenly exploded.

I thought maybe one of the helicopters that was filming the disaster had gotten too close.

But Luz said, “No. A plane hit it. I saw it. That was a plane.”

I hadn’t seen a plane. I said, “No. How could that be? There can’t be TWO drunk pilots.”

“Another plane has hit the World Trade Center,” Pat said. “It looks as if another plane — a commercial jet — has hit the World Trade Center. And we are getting reports that a plane has just hit the Pentagon.”

That’s when I grabbed Luz. And Luz grabbed me. We both started to cry. We sat on the couch in my living room, hugging each other, and crying as we watched what was happening on TV, which was what was happening a dozen blocks from where we sat, where both the people we loved were.

We could see things flying out of the burning buildings. Pat said that those things were people. People were choosing to jump from their offices in the World Trade Center rather than burn to death. They couldn’t escape the flames, and rescuers couldn’t reach them.

But their offices were sixty to ninety floors from the ground. Some of them were holding hands with their colleagues as they jumped. Many of them were women. You could tell by the way their skirts ballooned out behind them as they raced towards the pavement below.

Luz and I sobbed. We didn’t want to watch, but we couldn’t stop. This was happening in our city, just down the street, to people we saw every day. Who would do this? Who would do something like this to New Yorkers?

That’s when my phone rang. I grabbed it, but it wasn’t my husband. It was his mother. Where was he? she wanted to know. Was he all right?

I said I didn’t know. I said I was trying to keep the line clear, in case he called. She said she understood but to call her as soon as I heard anything, and hung up.

Then the phone rang again. It was my husband’s sister-in-law. Then it rang again. It was MY mother.

The phone rang all morning. It was never my husband. It was always family or friends, wondering if he was all right.

“I don’t know,” I kept telling them. “I don’t know.”

Luz went up to the roof of my building to see if she could see anything more from there than what they were showing on New York 1. While she was gone, I went into my bedroom to get dressed (I was still wearing my pajamas).

All I could think, as I looked into my closet, trying to figure out what to wear, was that my husband was probably dead. I didn’t see how anybody could be down in that part of Manhattan and still be alive. All I could see were things falling —and people jumping — out of those buildings. Anyone on the streets down below would have to be killed by all of that. The jumping people couldn’t choose where they landed.

I remember exactly what I put on that day: olive green capris and a black T-shirt, with my black Steve Madden slides. I remember thinking, “This will be my Identifying My Dead Husband’s Body outfit. I will never, ever wear it again after this day.”

I knew this because when I worked at the dorm at NYU, we had quite a few students kill themselves, in various ways. Every time a body was discovered, it was so horrible. All the first responders involved in the discovery could never wear the same clothes we wore that day again, because of the memory.

Luz came back down from the roof, very excited. No, she hadn’t seen if the buildings in which my husband and her son were in were all right. But she’d seen thousands — THOUSANDS — of people coming down 4th Avenue, the busy street I lived on at the time. 4th Avenue is always heavily trafficked with honking cars, buses, taxis, bike messengers, and scooters.

Not today. Today all the cars and buses were gone, and the entire avenue was crowded with people.

“Walking,” Luz said. “They’re WALKING DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET.”

I ran to look out the window. Luz was right. Instead of the constant stream of cars I’d gotten used to seeing outside our living room window, I saw wall to wall people. They had taken over the street. They were coming from the Battery, where the Trade Center is located, shoulder to shoulder, ten deep in the middle of the road, like a parade or a rally. There were tens of thousands of them.

There were men in business suits, and some in khakis. There were women in skirts and dresses, walking barefoot or in shredded pantyhose, holding their shoes because their high heels hurt too much and they hadn’t had time to grab their commuter running shoes. I saw the ladies who worked in the manicure shop across the street from my building running outside with the flip flops they put on their customers’ feet when they’ve had a pedicure (the flip flops the staff always make sure they get back before you leave).

But today, the staff was giving the flip flops to the women who were barefoot. They were giving away the flip flops.

That’s when I got REALLY freaked out.

The manicurists weren’t the only ones trying to help. The men who worked in the deli on the corner were running outside with bottles of water to give to the hot, thirsty marchers. New York City deli owners, GIVING water away. Usually they charged $2.

It was like the world had turned upside down.

“They have to be in there,” Luz said, about her son and my husband, pointing to the crowd. “They’re walking with them, and that’s what’s taking them so long to get here.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said. But I wasn’t sure I shared her faith.

Then Luz ran downstairs to see if anyone in the crowd was coming from the same college her son went to, to ask if anyone might have seen him.

I was afraid to leave my apartment, though, because I thought my husband might try to call. Not knowing what else to do, I logged onto the computer. My email was still working, even if the phones weren’t. I emailed my husband: WHERE ARE YOU?

No reply.

A friend from Indiana had emailed to ask if there was anything she could do. At the time, the only thing I could think of was, Give blood.

My friend, and everyone she knew, gave blood that day. So many people gave blood that there were lines around the corner to give it.

After a month, a lot of that surplus blood had to be destroyed, because they didn’t have room to store it all. And there turned out to be no use for it, anyway. There were few survivors to give blood to.

My friend Jen, the one who’d woken me up, e’d me from her job at NYU. Fred (out of respect for this person’s desire for anonymity, I have changed his name here), then one of Jen’s employees, and also a volunteer EMT, had jumped on his bike and headed downtown to see if there was anything he could do to help.

Jen herself was organizing a massive effort to set up shelter for students who didn’t live on campus, since the subways and commuter trains had stopped running, and the kids who commuted to school had no way of getting home that night. Jen was trying to arrange for cots to be set up in the gym for them.

She ended up staying in the city too that night. She had no way to get back to her house in Connecticut.

Another co-worker from NYU, my friend Jack, did manage to reach his spouse, who worked in the Trade Center, that day. Jack used to train the RAs. He would ask me to “interrupt” his training with a fake administrative temper tantrum — “Why are you in this room?” I would demand. “You never reserved it!”— and then he and I would “fight” about it, and then after I left Jack would ask the RAs what would have been a better way to handle the situation . . . and by the way, did any of them remember what I was wearing? After they’d tell him, he’d have me come back into the room, and point out that every single of them was wrong about what I’d had on. This was to show how unreliable witness testimony can be.

Jack’s wife had just walked eighty floors down one of the Towers to reach the ground safely since the elevators weren’t working due to the flames, only to realize the guys in her IT department were still up there, backing up data for the company. Once she reached the ground, and saw how bad things really were, she tried calling them to tell them to forget backing up and just COME DOWN, but of course she couldn’t get hold of them because no phones were working.

So she went back up to MAKE THEM come down, because who doesn’t love their IT guys?

“Why did you go back up?” Jack asked her, when he finally reached her. By that time she, along with the IT guys, had become trapped in the fire and smoke, and couldn’t make their way down again.

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” she said.

Of course it did. She was married to Jack. Jack would have done the same thing. She told Jack to say good bye to their twins toddlers for her. That was the last time they spoke.

I can never think of this, or of Jack’s happy, cheerful greeting every time I saw him, or the stunned looks on the RAs faces when they realized we’d pulled one over on them, without wanting to cry. It seems so unfair that those twins have had to grow up not knowing their mother. And for what reason?

Another friend, a pilot who had access to air traffic control radar, e’d me to say all the planes in the U.S. were being grounded — that what had happened had been the result of highjackings. That it was a commercial jet that had hit the Pentagon, where my friend’s father-in-law worked (they eventually found him, safe and sound. He’d been stuck in traffic on his way to the Pentagon when the plane hit. Many people that day were rewarded for tardiness).

But another friend – a girl I’d worked with when I’d been a receptionist in my husband’s office, a girl whom I’d helped pick out a wedding dress, and who, since the big day, had quit her job to raise the four kids she’d had – wasn’t so lucky. She never saw her husband, who worked at the Trade Center, again.

And this time he really WAS crying. Because one of the towers was collapsing.

I watched, not believing my eyes. Since having moved to New York City in 1989, I had become accustomed to using the Twin Towers as my own personal compass point for the direction “South,” since they’re on the southern tip of the island, and visible from dozens of blocks away. Wherever you were in the maze of streets that made up the Village, all you had to do to orient yourself was find the Twin Towers, and you knew which direction to go.

(If you ever watched closely during the movie “When Harry Met Sally,” you can see the towers beneath the Washington Square arch in the scene where Sally drops Harry off when they first arrive in New York.)

And now one of those towers was coming down.

I don’t remember anything else about that moment except that, as I watched the TV in horror, the front door to my apartment opened, and, assuming it was Luz back from the street, I turned to tell her, “It’s falling down! It’s FALLING DOWN!”

Only it wasn’t Luz. It was my husband.

He said, “What’s falling down? Why are you crying?”

Because HE HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS GOING ON.

Because my husband, being my husband, had picked up his briefcase after the first plane hit and said, “Let’s go,” to everyone in his department, took the elevators downstairs, and insisted everyone start walking for our apartment, because it was the closest place to where they were that seemed unlikely to be hit by an airplane.

(He told me later he’d worried they were going to try for the Stock Exchange, or the federal buildings you always see on Law and Order, and so had made everyone take small side streets home around those buildings, which is why it took them so long to get there).

They had to dodge the bodies of the people who jumped from the burning towers because they couldn’t stand the heat anymore. They saw the desk chairs and PCs that had been blown out of the offices so high above littering the street like tickertape from a parade. They saw the second plane hit while they were on the street, and ducked into a cell phone store until the rubble from the explosion settled. A piece of plane, nearly twenty feet long, flew past them, and landed in a parking lot, just missing Trinity Church, one of the oldest churches in this country.

And they kept walking.

I don’t know what people normally do when someone they love, who they were convinced was dead, suddenly walks through the door. All I know is how I reacted: I flung my arms around him. And then I started yelling, “WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME?”

“I tried, I couldn’t get through,” he said. “What’s falling down?”

Because they had no idea. All they knew was that the city was under attack (which they had surmised by all the airplanes).

So my husband and his colleagues gathered in our living room—hot, thirsty, but alive, the ones who lived in New Jersey wondering how (and if) they were going to get home. Eventually, that night, they managed to catch boat rides – see the film below.

Despite all the horror and misery of that day, there many, many acts of heroic bravery that continue to make me proud to be a human (and, let’s face it, an American). The “boat lift” from Manhattan is one of them. It is completely worth watching this short documentary about it by Tom Hanks if you have not seen it already.

Meanwhile, Luz, not wanting to go home until she’d heard from her son, who was supposed to meet her after class in my building, cleaned.

I told her not to, but she said it helped keep her mind off what was happening.

So she vacuumed, while eleven people sat in my two room apartment and watched the Twin Towers fall.

It wasn’t long after the second tower came down that our friends David and Susan from Indiana, who lived in a beautiful condo in the shadow of the Twin Towers with their two young children, showed up at our door, their kids and half the employees from their office (which was also in our neighborhood) behind them.

They had been some of the people shown on the news escaping from the massive dust cloud that erupted when the towers fell. They’d abandoned their daughter’s stroller and run for it, while shop owners tossed water on their backs as they passed by, to keep their clothes from catching on fire.

In their typical way, however, they had stopped on their way to our place to pick up some bagels.

For all they knew, their apartment was burning down, or being buried under ten feet of rubble. But they’d stopped for bagels, because they’d been worried people might be hungry. Or maybe people just do things in times like that to try to be normal. I don’t know. They didn’t forget the cream cheese, either.

I took the kids into my bedroom, where there was a second TV, because I didn’t think they should see what everyone was watching in the living room, which was footage of what they had just escaped from.

I set up my Playstation for Jake, who was seven or so at the time, to use, while Shai, just turning 4, and I did a puzzle on my floor. Both kids were worried about Mr. Fluff, their pet rabbit, whom they’d been forced to leave behind in their apartment, because there’d been no time to get him (their parents had run from work and grabbed both kids from school).

“Do you think he’s all right?” Jake wanted to know.

At the time, I didn’t see how anything south of Canal Street could be alive, but I told Jake I was sure Mr. Fluff was fine.

This was when Shai and I had the following conversation:

“Are planes going to fly into THIS building?” Shai wanted to know. She was crying as she looked out the windows of my thirteenth floor apartment.

Me: “No. No planes are going to fly into this building.”

Shai: “How do you know?”

Me: “Because all the planes are grounded. No more planes are allowed in the air.”

Shai: “Ever?”

Me: “No. Just until the bad guys who did this get caught.”

Shai: “Who’s going to catch the bad guys?”

Me: “The police will catch them.”

Shai: “No, they won’t. All the police are dead. I saw them going into the building that just fell down.”

Me (trying not to cry): “Shai. Not all the police are dead.”

Shai (crying harder): “Yes, they ARE. I SAW THEM.”

Me (showing Shai a picture from my family photo album of a policeman in his uniform): “Shai, this is my brother, Matt. He’s a policeman. And he’s not dead, I promise. And he, and other policemen like him, and probably even the Army, will catch the bad guys.”

Shai (no longer crying): “Okay.”

And she went back to her puzzle.

Watching from my living room window, we saw the crowds of people streaming out from what was soon to be called Ground Zero, thin to a trickle, then stop altogether. That was when 4th Avenue became crowded with vehicular traffic again. But not taxis or bike messengers.

Soon, our building was shaking from the wheels of hundreds of Humvees and Army trucks, as the National Guard moved in. The Village was blockaded from 14th Street down. You couldn’t come in or out of the neighborhood without showing proof that you lived there (a piece of mail with your name and address on it, along with a photo ID).

The next day, after having spent the night on our fold-out couch in the living room, Shai’s parents snuck back to their apartment (they had to sneak, because the National Guard wasn’t letting anyone at all, even with proof that they lived there, into the area. For weeks afterwards, on every corner from 14th Street down, stood a National Guardsman, armed with an assault rifle. For days, you couldn’t get milk, bread, or a newspaper below Union Square because they weren’t allowing any delivery trucks — or any vehicles at all, except Army vehicles — into the area), and found Mr. Fluff alive and well.

They snuck him back out, so that later that day, we were able to put the entire family on a bus to the Hamptons, where they lived for the rest of the year.

As my husband and I were walking back to our apartment from the bus stop where we’d seen off our friends, we saw a familiar face standing on the corner of 4th Avenue and 12th Street, where we lived:

Bill Clinton and his daughter Chelsea Clinton, asking people in our neighborhood if we were all right, and if there was anything they could do to help.

I didn’t go up to shake the ex-President’s hand, because I was too shy.

But I stood there watching him and Chelsea, and something about seeing them, so genuinely concerned and kind (and not there for press or publicity, because there WAS no press, there was never any mention of their visit AT ALL in any newspaper or on any news broadcast I saw that day), made me burst into tears, after having held them in the whole time Shai had been in my apartment, since I didn’t want to upset her.

But you couldn’t NOT cry. It was impossible. Everyone was doing it …so much so that the deli across the street put a sign in its window: “No Crying, Please.” Our doormen were crying. Even Rudy Giuliani, New York City’s mayor (whom I will admit up until this crisis I had not particularly liked for cheating on his very nice wife, Donna Hanover, who used to be on the Food Network), kept crying.

But he also kept showing up on New York 1, no matter what time you turned it on, even at two in the morning, there he was, like he never slept, always crying but also telling us It’s going to be all right, which was BRILLIANT.

The same day we put Shai and her family on a bus to the Hamptons, September 12 — which also happened to be poor Shai’s birthday — companies (even RIVAL companies) all over Manhattan offered up their conference rooms and spare offices to all the businesses in the Trade Center and One Liberty Plaza that had lost theirs, including my husband’s company, so that they would be able to remain solvent, another act of kindness that never gets mentioned anywhere, but should.

Since he was the only person in the company who lived downtown, my husband was elected for the duty of removing all the sensitive data from their now mostly destroyed office, which meant he had to pass through the Brooks Brothers in his building’s foyer, from which he had bought so many of his business shirts and ties. The Brooks Brothers at One Liberty Plaza was now serving as Ground Zero’s morgue.

While under escort of the National Guard, he and guardsmen–the first to enter his floor since the event–found a body in an emergency stairwell. It was determined to be the body of someone from another office, who had probably suffered a heart attack while trying to evacuate One Liberty. The body was removed and taken to the morgue while my husband watched. (He threw away the clothes he wore that day.)

For the next week in Lower Manhattan, even if you wanted to forget, for a minute, what had happened on that cloudless Tuesday morning, you couldn’t. The front window of my apartment building filled with Missing Person posters of loved ones that had been lost in the Trade Center. The outside walls of St. Vincent’s Hospital were papered with them as well, and Union Square, at 14th Street, became an impromptu memorial to the dead, filled with candles and flowers. So did the front doors of every local fire station, including the one across the street from my building. The old ladies who used to bring cookies there stood in front of it and cried.

You couldn’t go outside during that week — until it finally rained Friday night, four days later – without smelling the acrid smoke from Ground Zero … and, in fact, you were encouraged to wear surgical masks outdoors. An eerie grey fog covered everything. Some of us tried to brave it by not wearing masks — like Londoners during the Blitz — meeting for lunch like nothing had happened, but the smoke made your eyes burn. I have no idea how the rescue workers at Ground Zero could bear it, and I’m not surprised so many of them now have respiratory diseases and cancer.

It wasn’t until employees from a barbecue restaurant drove all the way to Manhattan from Memphis, and stationed their tanker-sized smokers right next to Ground Zero, and then started giving away free barbecue to all the rescue workers there for weeks on end, that the smell changed to something other than death. Everyone loved those guys. It was just barbecue.

Except it wasn’t just barbecue. It was a sign that, as the mayor kept assuring us, things were going to be all right.

But of course, for a lot of New Yorkers that day, things were never going to be all right again. While I was celebrating the fact that my husband had come home, Fred – Jen’s employee, the volunteer EMT who had ridden his bike downtown to see if there was anything he could do – couldn’t find his crew. This was before the buildings fell, before anyone had any idea those buildings COULD fall, when the police and firemen were still streaming into them, confident they could get people out.

The crew that Fred normally volunteered with were inside one of those buildings, helping people down the stairs. Fred couldn’t find them, because all the cell towers were down, and communication was so sketchy. Someone told Fred to drive a bus they’d found, to help evacuate people out of the World Trade Center area.

Fred didn’t want to be outside driving a bus. He wanted to be inside with his crew, saving people.

But since he couldn’t find his crew, he agreed to drive the bus.

Then the buildings came down. Later, Fred found out that the crew he normally volunteered with had been one of the many rescue squads buried under the rubble.

Like a lot of the rescue workers who lost coworkers in the attack, Fred seemed to feel guilty about having survived, while his friends had not. Even when all his NYU co-workers pitched in and bought him a new bike (after his old one got buried beneath rubble at Ground Zero), Fred couldn’t seem to shake his sadness. It was like he didn’t believe he’d done any good that day.

“All I did,” he said, “was drive a stupid bus.”

But that’s not all he did. Because remember Luz’s son?

Well, he showed up at my apartment not long after Jake and Shai and their parents did. Luz grabbed him and kissed him and shook him and cried, and when she finally let go of him, he told his story:

He had been heading towards — not away from – the towers, because he’d wanted to help, he said. A lot like Fred.

But suddenly, from out of nowhere, someone grabbed him from behind, and threw him onto a stupid bus.

“But I want to stay and help!” Luz’s son yelled at the guy who’d grabbed him.

“Not today,” Fred said.

And he drove Luz’s son, and all the other students from that community college to safety, just before the towers fell.

Now more than a decade has passed since 9/11. A year or two after finding that body, and the company he worked for got back on its feet, my husband decided financial writing wasn’t for him. He decided to follow a lifelong dream: he enrolled in the French Culinary Institute in Manhattan. He got to work with chefs like Jacques Pepin. At his graduation, Michael Lamonaco–who ran Windows on the World, the restaurant at the top of the Twin Towers. Michael is another person who happened to be late to work on 9/11–offered my husband a job in his new restaurant.

He declined, however, because we were moving to Key West, where the pace of life is a little bit slower. Michael said he completely understood.

Luz and her family are doing fine. Fred is now married with two children, and head of his own division at NYU. Mr. Fluff did eventually die, but of natural causes. Jake is thinking about law school, and Shai is touring colleges. Shai’s mother says her daughter has no memory whatsoever of that day, or of the conversation she and I had, or of the promise I made her — that we’d catch the bad guys.

Shai, however, says she does remember our conversation, and that I was right: we did catch the bad guys.

Of course, now there are some new bad guys out there. That’s no big surprise. You can never catch them all.

But the important thing is that we never forget . . . and that we never stop trying.

2015 is a special year for me. It marks the 15th Anniversary of the publication of The Princess Diaries, Volume 1, and Shadowland, Book 1 in The Mediator series. To celebrate this, in Summer 2015, I’ll be releasing three new books: two in the Princess Diaries series, and one in the Mediator series!

Here’s the scoop:

Mediator 7

In REMEMBRANCE (William Morrow), the seventh installment of the Mediator series, all Susannah Simon wants is to make a good impression at her first job since graduating from college (and becoming engaged to Dr. Jesse de Silva).

But when she stumbles across an ancient murder, old ghosts—and ex-boyfriends—aren’t all that come back to haunt her.

REMEMBRANCE will be the first ever adult installment of the Mediator, published by the adult division of HarperCollins, the company that brought you the YA books in the series.

Princess Diaries XI

In ROYAL WEDDING (William Morrow), Princess Diaries XI, Princess Mia’s planned nuptials to longtime love Michael Moscovitz are in jeopardy when the paparazzi uncover a startling secret: Mia has a long lost younger sister.

Now a scheming politico is using the royal scandal to force Mia’s father from the throne, leaving Genovia without a monarch . . . unless Mia can prove to everyone—especially herself—that she’s finally fit to rule.

ROYAL WEDDING will be the first ever adult installment of the Princess Diaries, published by the adult division of HarperCollins, the company that brought you the YA books in the series.

But don’t worry! Even though these will both be released as adult books in Summer 2015, you’ll also be able to share the princess power with your favorite younger reader:

In FROM THE NOTEBOOKS OF A MIDDLE SCHOOL PRINCESS (Macmillan) a new middle grade series, I’m taking readers back to Genovia, this time through the illustrated diaries of a spunky new heroine, 12 year old Olivia Grace, who happens to be the long lost half-sister of Princess Mia Thermopolis.

I’m super excited to be working with Jean Feiwel of Feiwel & Friends (a publisher of innovative fiction and non-fiction at Macmillan)with a new character for a younger audience. Olivia Grace has a biracial background, and that has a special resonance for me and my family. I’m hoping readers will be as excited about it as I am!

‘From the Notebooks of a Middle School Princess’ marks the first time I’ve illustrated my own children’s fiction (even though I have a BA in Fine Arts from Indiana University, and I moved to New York City originally to be an illustrator! It’s just one of those things that never worked out until now. Although being a bestselling author has been OK, too). I’m SO grateful to Macmillan (and Jean Feiwel) for helping to make it happen!

Art not final. Obviously! This is a sample sketch I did of Olivia and Mia!

I love both the Princess Diaries and the Mediatorseries because I have so much in common with those characters. Mia is bad at math, like me; Suze has a bad attitude, like me; Mia loves animals and creative writing, like me; Suze loves fashion and sees ghosts, like me. (Ha, kidding, only Suze sees ghosts.)

And now Mia has a younger mixed race sibling, like me (only mine is adopted. And a boy. And I highly doubt Mia will fight with her sibling over the TV remote like I used to do with mine. Also, Mia is more than ten years older than Olivia Grace, so they don’t really watch the same TV shows. And in the palace in Genovia, there’s more than one television).

Art not final! Obviously Grandmere won’t have cocktail glasses in her portrait in the real book! It’s for kids!

I’ve been planning this book for some time. I got the inspiration a few years ago from actual goings-on in the royal family of Monaco (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, you need to brush up on your royal family gossip). Of course there are major differences between Genovia and Monaco. For one thing, all children born to the heir to the throne of Genovia are in line to inherit. This is not so in Monaco. And for another thing, Michael Moscovitz is not Grace Kelly.

I’m guessing some longtime readers of the Princess Diaries series are wondering, “But didn’t Mia’s dad, Prince Philippe, say he couldn’t have any more kids?” Well, you’ll just have to wait to read ROYAL WEDDING (and ‘FROM THE NOTEBOOKS OF A MIDDLE SCHOOL PRINCESS’) to find out the details!

(For those of you going, “Wait . . . didn’t her dad die in the movie?” for the last time, Mia’s father is alive in the books.)

For those of you wondering if Paul Slater is in Mediator 7, the answer is yes, he is. There are a lot of comments I could make about that but I will restrain myself.

You may have noticed that I don’t have any public appearances scheduled for 2014. That’s because I’m gearing up for such a busy 2015!

(PS For those of you who regularly follow this blog who are wondering what happened to the boat I was buying, I’m still testing out which kind of boat I want. But my friends who own boats have grown tired of my pointing at myself and saying, “I’m the captain now,” then taking over the wheel–though that joke NEVER gets tired to me. So I figured it was time to go back to writing for a bit.)

In the meantime, stay tuned to this blog and to my social media network feeds for updates, news, and maybe even a chance to win some sneak peeks at the upcoming books (like this one. You can bid to win a sneak peek chapter of either Royal Wedding or Remembrance, in addition to a complete signed set of the Princess Diaries series. AND all the money goes to diabetes research)!

Well, it’s that time again: High school seniors have found out where they’re going to college next year, and are either celebrating, or filled with despair (or maybe somewhere in between).

I certainly hope you (or your loved ones) fall into the celebration category.

But if you don’t, you aren’t alone. Thanks to the easier to submit “electronic” Common App, more people than ever applied to “elite” or top tier colleges. This has led to more people than ever–95%–getting rejected. (Source: The New York Times)

I know not making it into your dream school (or even your second or third or fourth choice school) hurts. But fear not if you or your loved one is among the 95%, because I have good news:

Everything is going to be fine.

How do I know?

Because most of us fall into the 95%. And because of facts.

Fact #1:

Did you know that in a new Gallup poll given to business leaders, only 9% ranked where an applicant went to college as “very important”? They were more concerned with the applicant’s “knowledge” and “applied skills.” (Source: Inside Higher Ed)

Personally when I’m hiring someone (and I’ve employed a shockingly high amount of people in my lifetime), I rank “fashion sense” and “humor” as most important. But we all have our foibles.

Fact #2:

Just because your friend Tara got into your dream school and you didn’t doesn’t mean Tara is smarter or more talented than you are. Maybe Tara’s mom knows someone, or Tara got an interview, or Tara said something that really clicked on a personal level with someone reading her essay.

(As someone who worked in a college for 10 years, I can assure you that this happens A LOT. When any kid wrote/drew something on a form that made me laugh, I gave that kid anything he/she wanted. Work is boring.)

Do NOT take rejection personally. Make like Elsa in Frozen and let it go.

Fact #3:

“I don’t care where someone went to school,” says Warren Buffett, richest man on the planet (who attended University of Nebraska-Lincoln). “That never caused me to hire anyone or buy a business.”(Source: The Wall Street Journal)

Warren prefers to work with people who make him laugh, too. See?

Fact #4:

A vast variety of schools have yielded Fortune 500 CEOs. They include Southern Methodist University (#10 on the list) Texas A&M (#13), San Diego State (#16), Purdue (#18), University of Michigan (#18), and University of Kansas (#20). Indiana University tied with Northwestern (6 MBA grads each). (Source: Poets and Quants.com)

Fact #5:

“You can go to a top-end school and end up dramatically underperforming, or you can go to a place that cares, and blow away what everyone thinks,” says Bill Green, retired CEO of global Accenture management consulting firm.

Green feels angry when he encounters “parents who are afraid or ashamed to say their son or daughter is attending a community college,” he says. Green attended a very small private college (Dean), and was very close to his professors there. (Source: The Wall Street Journal)

Fact #6:

While I can completely understand the appeal of the Ivy’s since they’re so heavily endowed that they can offer free tuition to students from low-income families, and I know people think that going to a top tier school is necessary for networking, networking (and financial aid) is also available at state, technical, and community colleges as well. So are scholarships.

Fact #7:

Half of all college students go to community (or technical) college at some point in their lives. (Source: Business Insider)

So why, when it’s not necessary, and has even been proven to be harmful to them, do kids (and often their parents) put so much pressure on themselves to get into these top tier schools (aside from the free tuition, of course)?

Fact #8:

Some of that pressure may come from the schools themselves. By getting their application numbers up, the schools can advertise the following year about how popular (and selective) they are.

Many schools do this by sending marketing materials to perspective applicants they’re fully aware have no hope of being admitted. (Source: The New York Times)

Fact #9:

I know several college guidance counselors who complain that they can mention all the other many fine schools that are out there until they are blue in the face, but some young people (and occasionally their parents) are still only interested in the more famous “name brand” schools.

These students only want what they consider the “best,” because they’ve been told all their lives by the media (and often their parents) that they “deserve the best.”

But the “best fit” often isn’t a “name brand” school, just as “name brand” jeans don’t look good on everyone. We all have to find our own style.

Fact #10:

We all know that an education at an elite school is no guarantee of success later in life. Take a look at some of these Very Bad Ivy League Scandals.

I will close now with these uplifting facts for anyone feeling glum about their educational future:

Uplifting Fact #1:

My idol, George Lucas, who wrote and directed Star Wars, began his educational career at Modesto Junior College (studying anthropology, which makes sense if you consider the Ewoks), and Walt Disney, who won 48 Academy awards and 7 Emmys, went to Metropolitan Junior College in Missouri. Both community colleges! (Source: Business Insider)

Uplifting Fact #2:

John Grisham went to Northwest Mississippi Community College, then later Cleveland Delta State University before attending Mississippi State, where he studied accounting and then finally attained a law degree. None of this appears to have interfered whatsoever with his becoming the author of A Time To Kill, one of the bestselling suspense novels of all time. (Source: Huffington Post)

Uplifting Fact #3:

Other well known writers who studied everything but writing at non-Ivy League schools include myself (art major, Indiana University) and Barbara Kingsolver (author of The Poisonwood Bible) who studied classical piano and then biology before finally earning a masters degree in Ecology from the University of Arizona.

Uplifting Fact #4:

Sue Monk Kidd got a BS in Nursing from Texas Christian University before getting her first novel, The Secret Life of Bees, published when she was 54.

Uplifting Fact #5:

JK Rowling famously applied to Oxford but was rejected, “only” to go University of Exeter, where she studied French and Classical Literature. (The University of Exeter sounds pretty good to me.)

Uplifting Fact #6:

Finally, remember: it’s not about where you get your education. It’s about how hard you study while you’re there, what you do with what you learn, and the kind of person you strive to be after graduation that really matters.

Well, it’s that time again: High school seniors have found out where they’re going to college next year, and are either celebrating, or filled with despair (or maybe somewhere in between).

I certainly hope you (or your loved ones) fall into the celebration category.

But if you don’t, you aren’t alone. Thanks to the easier to submit “electronic” Common App, more people than ever applied to “elite” or top tier colleges. This has led to more people than ever–95%–getting rejected. (Source: The New York Times)

I know not making it into your dream school (or even your second or third or fourth choice school) hurts. But fear not if you or your loved one is among the 95%, because I have good news:

Everything is going to be fine.

How do I know?

Because most of us fall into the 95%. And because of facts.

Fact #1:

Did you know that in a new Gallup poll given to business leaders, only 9% ranked where an applicant went to college as “very important”? They were more concerned with the applicant’s “knowledge” and “applied skills.” (Source: Inside Higher Ed)

Personally when I’m hiring someone (and I’ve employed a shockingly high amount of people in my lifetime), I rank “fashion sense” and “humor” as most important. But we all have our foibles.

Fact #2:

Just because your friend Tara got into your dream school and you didn’t doesn’t mean Tara is smarter or more talented than you are. Maybe Tara’s mom knows someone, or Tara got an interview, or Tara said something that really clicked on a personal level with someone reading her essay.

(As someone who worked in a college for 10 years, I can assure you that this happens A LOT. When any kid wrote/drew something on a form that made me laugh, I gave that kid anything he/she wanted. Work is boring.)

Do NOT take rejection personally. Make like Elsa in Frozen and let it go.

Fact #3:

“I don’t care where someone went to school,” says Warren Buffett, richest man on the planet (who attended University of Nebraska-Lincoln). “That never caused me to hire anyone or buy a business.”(Source: The Wall Street Journal)

Warren prefers to work with people who make him laugh, too. See?

Fact #4:

A vast variety of schools have yielded Fortune 500 CEOs. They include Southern Methodist University (#10 on the list) Texas A&M (#13), San Diego State (#16), Purdue (#18), University of Michigan (#18), and University of Kansas (#20). Indiana University tied with Northwestern (6 MBA grads each). (Source: Poets and Quants.com)

Fact #5:

“You can go to a top-end school and end up dramatically underperforming, or you can go to a place that cares, and blow away what everyone thinks,” says Bill Green, retired CEO of global Accenture management consulting firm.

Green feels angry when he encounters “parents who are afraid or ashamed to say their son or daughter is attending a community college,” he says. Green attended a very small private college (Dean), and was very close to his professors there. (Source: The Wall Street Journal)

Fact #6:

While I can completely understand the appeal of the Ivy’s since they’re so heavily endowed that they can offer free tuition to students from low-income families, and I know people think that going to a top tier school is necessary for networking, networking (and financial aid) is also available at state, technical, and community colleges as well. So are scholarships.

Fact #7:

Half of all college students go to community (or technical) college at some point in their lives. (Source: Business Insider)

So why, when it’s not necessary, and has even been proven to be harmful to them, do kids (and often their parents) put so much pressure on themselves to get into these top tier schools (aside from the free tuition, of course)?

Fact #8:

Some of that pressure may come from the schools themselves. By getting their application numbers up, the schools can advertise the following year about how popular (and selective) they are.

Many schools do this by sending marketing materials to perspective applicants they’re fully aware have no hope of being admitted. (Source: The New York Times)

Fact #9:

I know several college guidance counselors who complain that they can mention all the other many fine schools that are out there until they are blue in the face, but some young people (and occasionally their parents) are still only interested in the more famous “name brand” schools.

These students only want what they consider the “best,” because they’ve been told all their lives by the media (and often their parents) that they “deserve the best.”

But the “best fit” often isn’t a “name brand” school, just as “name brand” jeans don’t look good on everyone. We all have to find our own style.

Fact #10:

We all know that an education at an elite school is no guarantee of success later in life. Take a look at some of these Very Bad Ivy League Scandals.

I will close now with these uplifting facts for anyone feeling glum about their educational future:

Uplifting Fact #1:

My idol, George Lucas, who wrote and directed Star Wars, began his educational career at Modesto Junior College (studying anthropology, which makes sense if you consider the Ewoks), and Walt Disney, who won 48 Academy awards and 7 Emmys, went to Metropolitan Junior College in Missouri. Both community colleges! (Source: Business Insider)

Uplifting Fact #2:

John Grisham went to Northwest Mississippi Community College, then later Cleveland Delta State University before attending Mississippi State, where he studied accounting and then finally attained a law degree. None of this appears to have interfered whatsoever with his becoming the author of A Time To Kill, one of the bestselling suspense novels of all time. (Source: Huffington Post)

Uplifting Fact #3:

Other well known writers who studied everything but writing at non-Ivy League schools include myself (art major, Indiana University) and Barbara Kingsolver (author of The Poisonwood Bible) who studied classical piano and then biology before finally earning a masters degree in Ecology from the University of Arizona.

Uplifting Fact #4:

Sue Monk Kidd got a BS in Nursing from Texas Christian University before getting her first novel, The Secret Life of Bees, published when she was 54.

Uplifting Fact #5:

JK Rowling famously applied to Oxford but was rejected, “only” to go University of Exeter, where she studied French and Classical Literature. (The University of Exeter sounds pretty good to me.)

Uplifting Fact #6:

Finally, remember: it’s not about where you get your education. It’s about how hard you study while you’re there, what you do with what you learn, and the kind of person you strive to be after graduation that really matters.

I love Spring Break so much that I moved to Florida so I can have Spring Break every time I step outside (except during hurricane season, of course).

But that doesn’t mean I had great Spring Breaks as a kid/teen/twenty-something! Quite the opposite.

That’s why I’m posting some tips on how to make the most of your break (assuming you’re going somewhere . . . and even if you’re not, there are still some valuable insights here). I hope after reading this you’ll avoid the mistakes that I, as a rookie Spring Breaker, made. Good luck!

Tip #1: Make sure you’re traveling with someone who likes to wake up early so he/she can go down to the pool/beach to reserve a sunny spot for you. Preferably a place like this:

Tip #2: Don’t waste your money on a rental car (there’s never any parking near the beach anyway). The best way to get around is by renting bikes (or walking). That way you can work off all those nachos you had last night (mmm, nachos).

If you rent scooters (like Gregory Hines and Billy Crystal in that 80s cop classic, Running Scared), take corners slowly, or you’ll end up spending your vacation with road burn in the local ER. Ew!

Always check your beach chair, hat, and towel for living things that might have crawled into them while you were in the bathroom/surf/bar. Nothing’s worse than putting on your sun hat only to have a tick/snake/crab crawl out from under it and into your face (except sunburn and road burn).

Tip #5: Insects aren’t the only creepy crawlers who might try to sneak into your personal space(s)! While there’s always a chance you’ll meet your one true love on vacation, remember what Mom (and the Lifetime Movie Channel) said about strangers with candy (or PBR).

So just like you should remember to check your sun hat for snakes before putting it on, remember never to drink from an open container that’s been out of your sight, or accept a drink from someone you don’t know well. Take it from a former assistant dorm director (yes, all those stories from the Heather Wells books are true)!

Tip #6: Leave the local wildlife where you found it so others can enjoy it after you (unless of course you have a license to kill it for food, like this guy):

Tip #7: Whether you’re vacationing or stay-cationing it, if you’ve spent the past few months studying (or shoveling snow), you NEED to relax with a new read!

Only what? Click here for a breakdown of the most popular books by state, according to Scribd’s e-book library. (I love that The Princess Diaries is the most checked out Scribd library e-book in Missouri.)

Interested in reading other books based on (fictional) people’s diaries or emails? (I know I can’t resist.) Then you might enjoy:

Daddy Long Legs is about an orphaned girl who’s required to write monthly letters to her rich benefactor, whom she’s never met. (You can probably guess what happens from there, but it’s HOW it happens that’s so great.) Dear Enemy is the pseudo sequel.

Along that same vein, an HR rep and a corporate lawyer hate each other in my epistolary novel told entirely in letters, emails, instant message conversations, minutes from meetings, and diary entries in Boy Meets Girl.

Did you know the Nazis occupied the Channel Islands in World War II (just outside England)? You can learn history while being uplifted and entertained at the same time with The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. (I promise you there is so much humor and romance in this book that you’ll forget the strange title, and even the Nazis.)

Do you like re-tellings of famous stories? Epic Reads posted a great chart the other day featuring 162 retellings of fairy tales, classics, myths and more (although they skipped a few of my favorites, including one I wrote, Avalon High, based on the myth of King Arthur).

They also didn’t include a cool new re-telling of Sleeping Beauty that I just read, While Beauty Slept, (but that’s because While Beauty Slept isn’t YA, it’s adult).

Like any book nerd, I wondered how Elizabeth Blackwell was going to pull off a historic re-telling of Sleeping Beauty and still have “Beauty” (who is not the narrator) sleep for a hundred years. Well, she does it in an intriguing way. I just noticed People Magazine gave this book a rave review. Great as either a beach or fireside read!

One last Spring Break rec:

In honor of its 50th Anniversary, Random House is releasing a special edition of the amazing Harriet the Spy, with tributes from many authors who adore both Harriet and late author Louise Fitzhugh, including Judy Blume, myself, Lois Lowry, Rebecca Stead, and many more. If you haven’t read Harriet in a while (or never met her), pay a visit.

Tip # 8: Obey local laws, even if you don’t understand them. They’re there for your safety.

Danger! No pushing over rocks at the beach!

Tip #9: Don’t let your dentist convince you that Spring Break would be an excellent time to remove your wisdom teeth. This actually happened to me. You can read a fictionalized account of it here.

Well, it’s that time of year again. Whether you love it or hate it, Valentine’s Day is around the corner!

Lots of people have been asking what I’m doing for Valentine’s Day, what to do about their crushes, what I’m working on now, and other important questions.

So below are some of your questions, along with some answers. I hope they help!

(As usual, I’ve tried to protect the questioners anonymity by making up fake names for them, but that doesn’t mean the letters themselves are fake. I will admit to condensing some of them in cases where the details would definitely give away the sender’s identity.)

Dear Meg:

What are you doing for Valentine’s Day? Do you and your husband do anything special?

Signed,

Cupid Lover

Dear Cupid Lover,

I definitely love romance. I think the world, needs much, much more of it.

But my guy isn’t a fan of Valentine’s Day (he’s a bit like Michael Moscovitz from The Princess Diaries in this way).*

That doesn’t mean he never brings me flowers or other gifts! He just prefers not to do it on February 14, a day on which a total of $18.6 billion is spent annually. (Wow, that figure is a little bit insane!)

And since we’ve been married for almost 21 years, we must be doing something right.

*See more on this topic below!

Dear Meg:

All my friends think the things I like—Valentine’s Day, writing and reading romantic fiction, so-called girly stuff—are stupid. They make fun of me for liking it, which makes me feel really insecure and also sometimes depressed. What should I do?

Love,

Romance Queen

Dear Romance Queen,

Here is what you should do:

Keep the books, dump the friends.

Before you dump them all, however, for the fabulous new friends you’re going to make at your local chapter of Romance Writers of America (which I suggest you join right away), try telling your old friends this:

The romance industry earned an estimated $1.4 billion last year, making it the top-performing category in the publishing industry. The majority of people who read romance (of which there are many sub-genres, the most popular of which is mystery/suspense, like my Heather Wells novels) are college educated women who earn an annual income of between $50,000-$99,000. The majority of them are in a monogamous relationship, and they like to read. A lot.

I hope your friends aren’t suggesting that all of these women are stupid. That would be pretty sexist (and wrong-headed) of them!

Maybe your friends aren’t aware that historically, things enjoyed primarily by women (or deemed “feminine”) have often been looked down upon as “less important” or “inferior” to things enjoyed primarily by men (or deemed “masculine”). This includes things having to do with “romance.” (Don’t ask me why, since without romance, none of us would have been born!)

You can try to help educate your friends about all this, but the most important thing right now is to take care of you. You shouldn’t have to go around feeling depressed all the time.

Believe me, I know: I was once in your exact same shoes (I had a couple of friends who kept telling me how stupid I was to love the books I liked to read and write).

So I dumped those friends and stuck with the books. And everyone knows how that turned out (uh, in case you don’t – multiple #1 New York Times bestselling author of over 25 million copies in 40 countries, etc).

(But when those friends later said they’d learned from their mistake, and how sorry they were, I forgave them. Because the more romance lovers there are in the world, the better! Plus, I’m classy.)

Thanks for writing, and let me know how it goes.

Love,

Meg

Dear Meg:

I really like a boy and for Valentine’s Day I want to tell him. But I don’t know if he likes me back. I’m scared he’s going to laugh at me. Any advice?

Signed,

Crazy in Love

Dear Crazy,

If you can’t tell your crush you like him/her on Valentine’s Day, when CAN you tell him/her?

(Well, anytime, really. You don’t HAVE to do it February 14.)

Here are few Do’s and Don’ts on How to Deliver the Perfect Valentine to someone who doesn’t know you like them:

DObe brief, upbeat, and to the point.

A note (or any type of message) that says the equivalent of “Hey, I like you! Want to hang out sometime?” is perfect.

DON’T be soppy or stalkery.

I know you have so many feels, but save the three or four page single-spaced love letters until you know your feelings are returned.

DO give food.

Everyone appreciates chocolate. (But don’t go over the top. No need to spend a fortune. And nothing is less romantic than causing your Valentine to have to go to the ER, so check for known allergens.)

DON’Tput your Valentine on the spot.

Don’t give deliver your Valentine in a public place, in front of friends. Text/email/ or otherwise privately deliver your Valentine. This will spare you embarrassment in the unlikely event your feelings aren’t returned.

DON’T freak out if your Valentine doesn’t respond right away.

Sometimes potential Valentines need some time to reflect upon their feelings/eat their chocolate/consult their friends about you. This doesn’t mean they don’t like you. It just means they’re as insecure as you are.

DOcommunicate.

Ask your Valentine when you next see him/her (after giving him/her some space) what he/she thought of your message/candy/flowers and if he/she would like to go out sometime.

DOprepare for the worst.

Your feelings might not be returned. Hey, it’s not the end of the world. He/she wasn’t good enough for you anyway.

DO hope for the best.

Your feelings might be returned! If you don’t risk telling your crush how you feel, you might not ever find out he/she likes you back, and know the thrill of true romance!

DO remember:

If he/she laughs at you, your crush is a jerk and you’re better off without him/her.

“Faint heart never won fair lad/lady!” GO FOR IT.

Dear Meg,

My boyfriend hates Valentine’s Day. It makes me sooooo sad, because I see all my friends getting stuffed animals and flowers, and I get nothing! I always give my boyfriend a nice card and a gold chain! What can I do to make him get me a card at least?

Signed,

Depressed

Dear Depressed:

Don’t be depressed, because you are not alone! There was a letter just like this to Dear Abby the other day in her column. Here’s Abby’s great answer:

According to a report on npr.org, the celebration of Valentine’s Day started in ancient Rome and contains elements of both Christian and pre-Christian religions. In the third century A.D., two men named Valentine were executed by the emperor Claudius II in different years on Feb. 14, and a few hundred years later, a pope (Gelasius I) combined St. Valentine’s Day with Lupercalia — a fertility feast — to replace the pagan ritual. (Research this online if you wish, because I found it fascinating.) The holiday didn’t become romanticized until the Renaissance.

That said, allow me to point out that there are few things more unpleasant than feeling forced to give someone a gift. If you have already discussed this with your boyfriend and he’s still resistant, then instead of focusing on what you’re NOT getting out of this relationship, try focusing on what you ARE getting. It may help you to feel less deprived. – Abigail van Buren

Tip from Meg:

I suggest you stop giving your boyfriend gifts on Valentine’s Day, since he is so strongly against that holiday. Figure out another holiday that you two can celebrate together. Flexibility (and a sense of humor) is what makes relationships last.

If you’re asking if it is true that there exists in the world young men who are kind, loyal, and respectful of women, then the answer is yes.

If you’re asking if these young men also rule the Underworld, are impossibly handsome and rich with washboard abs, then the answer is no, I made those parts up!

If you’re wondering how/where to meet guys like the ones mentioned above, just look around. They are everywhere, looking for a girl like you. They might be a little intimidated by you and need you to make the first move, though.

Love,

Meg

Dear Meg,

What are you working on now? When is a new book of yours coming out? I heard a rumor you’re working on a 7th Mediator book. If this were true, it would be the best Valentine’s Day present ever, especially if you could let me read a tiny sneak preview.

Book Worm

Dear Book,

Well, it is true, but I’m taking my time with it to make it absolutely perfect, and also working on a few other (secret) projects.

Thank you very much for the support, but I can’t give out any sneak peeks of anything at this time, since I always need to change something later. Most writers I know go back and tweak early scenes all the way until the very last chapter!

But as soon as I feel like I can share, you all will be the first to know!

In the meantime, please enjoy this amazing Valentine’s Day Pinterest Board, for both Valentine’s Day Lovers and Haters alike! And have a VERY HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

Everyone else is posting their “best of” lists for 2013, so here’s mine. Please note these are my own opinions. They aren’t shared by any of my characters (that I know of) (so far).

Best movie of 2013:

I haven’t seen all the movies that came out in 2013, but the movie at which I enjoyed myself the most in 2013 was The Heat, starring Melissa McCarthy and Sandra Bullock.

I think a nice rule for Hollywood should be that Melissa McCarthy has to be in every movie (at least a cameo) ever made, from now on. Imagine if she’d been in all the Australian flashback scenes of Saving Mr. Banks! So many more (sometimes needed) laughs.

Best TV show of 2013

There were so many amazing TV shows in 2013, it’s hard to pick just one.

Parenthood (I don’t mind admitting I’m Team Ed.)

The Walking Dead (Yes! I watch Parenthood AND The Walking Dead! Sometimes I wish The Walking Dead would visit the neighborhood in which the cast of Parenthood lives.)

Major Crimes (I wish I worked for Captain Raydor, or at least could hang out with the squad and help them solve all the murders, of which there seem to be a lot in LA.)

Necessary Roughness (OMG I’m SO sad this show is cancelled. In the season finale when Nico turned out to have his own private plane???? I rewound that episode and watched it like 5 times and then casually asked HWSNBNITB, “You wouldn’t happen to have a private plane that you never told me about, would you?” and he said, “What have you been watching?” and I said, “Never mind.”)

Game of Thrones (OMG what if Jon Snow turns out to be the true heir to the throne and he and the Khaleesi get together and she lets him ride on one of her dragons? IT WOULD BE EVEN BETTER THAN NICO’S PRIVATE PLANE.)

Nurse Jackie (This show is actually fine the way it is, no private planes necessary.)

Scandal (this show is a crazy hot mess which is WHY IT’S SO GOOD. The president has SO MANY PRIVATE PLANES and the best abs of any president that has ever lived. Speaking of which, love these Founding Father Pin Ups).

And so many more shows I can’t remember now because suddenly I’m distracted by something. I can’t think what.

But my favorite discovery of 2013 was Orange is the New Black. If you told me a Netflix series about a women’s penitentiary would be my favorite of the year, I’d say: “Try again!”

But it is! And it does not even need a cameo from Melissa McCarthy to make it better. It is amazing all on its own. Can’t wait for the new season in 2014.

Best Book of 2013

I know everyone thinks writers must read tons of books—especially every new book that comes out—but some of us have too many voices in our heads already, so we avoid putting new ones in there, at least while we’re working.

I’ve been working on a lot of new stuff, so that means no new reads for me (except when asked as a special favor to blurb something).

So for pleasure I’ve been reading old stuff only, and only outside the genres in which I write (so hard-boiled detective novels and non-fiction about deadly plagues). The books I enjoyed most this year were:

The Travis McGee series by John D MacDonald

If you watch Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. you will recall that in the first episode the explanation for Agent Coulson’s “recovery” from his death in the movie The Avengers was that he was sent to Tahiti to sip Mai Tais and read Travis McGee novels. I highly recommend this form of therapy. Although I’ve never died, been to Tahiti, and I prefer vodka and grapefruit juice over Mai Tais.

The Diary of a Provincial Lady by EM Delafield (and the follow up sequels, The Provincial Lady in London and Provincial Lady in America).

These are the diaries of a lady novelist living in the English countryside just before (and then during) World War II. They are delicious.

Shut Up, You’re Welcome by Annie Choi.

I’ve never met Annie but I’ve been reading her books (and blog) for a while and both never fail to amuse me. She has a healthy respect for deadly plagues.

Best song of 2013:

There were definitely a lot of great songs that came out in 2013 but only one contained the lyrics:

I wear your granddad’s clothes

I look incredible

I’m in this big ass coat

From that thrift shop down the road

I know “Thrift Shop” by Macklemore came out in 2012 but I didn’t discover it in 2013 so I’m putting it on my Best of 2013 List. (It’s my list so I can do whatever I want.)

These are without a doubt my favorite lyrics of the year, possibly of all time. Of course, the song isn’t half as funny if you don’t watch the video which is NSFW and has bad words in it:

Obviously I love of all Macklemore’s songs but this one is my favorite. When they play it in clubs I have to start dancing to it (not that I go to clubs) (well, not every night).

HWSNBNITB is sick of hearing “Thrift Shop” blasting every morning as it is my favorite “time to get to work” song (although Nicki Minaj’s “Starships” is also still on the rotation because are we not all meant to fly?). So that’s a sign of how well loved it is at our house.

Best Video of 2013

A lot of “best of” lists has “What Does the Fox Say” as best video of 2013, but I personally preferred the SNL spoof What Does My Girl Say because Kerry Washington is so awesome in it and also everything in it is true (also my mom has foxes at her house and I’ve never heard them say anything, but I realize that isn’t the point).

The birth of the royal baby, Prince George, was a very uplifting story. It’s always fun to hear happy birth/wedding stories, and a royal one is even better (for some reason). (Well, probably because he’s royal.)

But I also like any news story involving animals that help rescue us, and that we, in turn, thank. This was a great one from 2013 about a bomb-sniffing dog that saved an entire unit in Afghanistan, then got reunited with his master after they were both injured and separated. It made me cry, but in a good way. Here’s the video:

This concludes my Best Of 2013 list. There were a lot more things I enjoyed in 2013–seeing many of you on my Bride Wore Size 12 book tour; hearing from many of you online; going to France with my family; hanging out with friends; working with great people; learning to drive a boat (though I haven’t bought one yet)–that I could list here, but I’m saving them for the books I’m writing. If I use up all my comments/creativity in my blog/social media, I’ll have no surprises left for my stories! I’m not saying we each have a finite number of words/creativity, but I think a lot about Lizzie Bennett’s wise words in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice(another book I re-read this year):

I love the lights and good tidings, not to mention all the crazy shows on TLC and HGTV about Christmas-themed weddings and competing with their neighbors to decorate your house (which I like to watch while gorging on peppermint bark).

(A festively decorated Key West house, with a holiday dolphin theme, of course!)

I also love all the stories about strangers paying off the lay-aways of single moms at K-mart and I TOTALLY love all the crazy “gift guides” celebrities put on their blogs because we’re so going to give someone an ugly $45,000 watch as suggested by Rachel Zoe.

But this time of year I also start having stress dreams that I’m still working at the first real job I ever had (as a gift wrapper in a bookstore), and I’ve accidentally wrapped someone’s perfect gift wrong, ruining their ENTIRE holiday.

The truth is I think I’m better at choosing (and wrapping) gifts for my fictional characters (check out the What Would Meg Cabot’s Characters Want Holiday Pinterest page) than real life friends and family (and store customers).

(Something John Hayden from the Abandon series might receive.)

If you’re like me and waited until now to start your holiday shopping, there’s still time! Here is MY celebrity gift guide, the nicest thing about which is that most of the gifts are free or next to free:

Give someone this FREE online booklet of some cartoons. I did (yes. I draw too)!

The best part about this gift? IT IS FREE (it’s also good. Well, in my opinion).

If you know someone who is Brazilian and speaks/reads Brazilian Portuguese, Size 12 and Ready to Rock was just released there on December 9 (read a free sample here). So you could give them a copy. Also FREE (well, the sample is. The book itself costs money).

Of course, the sequel, The Bride Wore Size 12, is already out in the US and Canada as a trade paperback and e-book, which makes it the perfect stocking stuffer, if you ask me (but I’ve already read it, so I hope no one gets it for me). However, this costs money, unless you go to the many websites online where you can find pirated versions. I am not going to link to them however, since I can’t make it THAT easy!

You could also try surprising a loved one with the gift of a copy of Holiday Princess (we’re giving you a chance to win one here).

But since the contest ends AFTER the holidays, this suggestion probably defeats the purpose.

People keep asking me, “But Meg, what do YOU want for Christmas?”

I already got what I wanted for Christmas: a sabbatical. For those of you who don’t know what this word means, here is the definition:

Any extended period of leave from one’s customary work, especially for rest, to acquire new skills or training, etc.

I’ve been taking a little break from writing to do other things (such as drawing) . . . although my sabbatical hasn’t been too successful as it turns out I can’t help writing, so I can’t help sneaking bits of that in.

Other than that, though, it’s been LOVELY. I got to spend time (the entire month of October!) with family and friends in Europe. My good friend Michele Jaffe has been spending the winter in Key West (she even helped decorate our tree)! I even have a secret project I’ve been working on that no one knows about! Shh! Don’t tell.

The project does not involve Slutty-McSlut-A-Lot. She just looks cute in this photo.

All in all, if I’d been on that Westjet flight where Santa asked all the passengers what they wanted (and at the end of the flight, everyone got what they asked for at baggage claim!), I wouldn’t have known what to say to Santa! Because I truly have everything I ever dreamed of . . .

Mostly all writers do is sit around and write (or sit around and not write, in which case, we can usually be found watching Law & Order reruns, fretting that we’ll never write again, or writer anything as good as Law and Order, especially the SVUs).

But sometimes, we go out and talk about writing. That’s almost as fun as writing . . . in some cases, more fun.

It’s particularly true of the Miami Book Festival (it’s the festival’s 30th anniversary!). I’m going there this week, as well as attending some signings in the surrounding area! I’ll also be judging a “Literary Death Match.” Oh, yes: A death match is going down.

I don’t know about you, but all the Christmas ads on TV (and decorations in the stores) have made me feel inadequate. I haven’t even put away my leftover Halloween candy. I’m not ready for Christmas! And you can see from the expression of Slutty-McSlut-A-Lot, aka Gem, what she thinks about the whole thing:

But here’s an easy and practically FREE gift-giving idea to get you started on the holiday shopping for the book lovers in your life:

Send a self-addressed stamped envelope (SASE) to my PO Box (address below), and I’ll return it to you filled with the autographed bookplates (indicate how many you’d like, and if you’d like them personalized), bookmarks, flyers, and postcards pictured here (jewelry and family photos not included)!

Send the SASE to:

Meg Cabot

P.O. Box 4904

Key West, FL 33041-4904

Send your SASE early (as in now) so it can be sent back to you in time for the holidays, so you can then give it to your friend/loved one!

You can also send Meg Cabot books themselves to be autographed and personalized, too, but please also enclose an envelope with correct postage on it for their return, and include plenty of time for their return before the holidays!

If you need a guide on which Meg Cabot books are appropriate for which age range, you can find it here.

As for what else I’m up to, the answer is . . . writing (and of course, not writing. Never be too hard on yourself)! As many of you know, November is National Novel Writing Month and I’ve been posting (almost) daily word counts on Twitter about the book I’m working on (uh, the days I actually work on it), reading all your inspirational tweets, and eating lots of mini-Butterfingers leftover from Halloween. So fun (although I have to stop with the Butterfingers. Only because I’m almost out of them).

But in between, I can’t help but think of everyone in the Philippines who is suffering from the aftermath of Typhoon Haiyan, one of the most catastrophic storms in history. Please join me in donating to the Red Cross if you can, or to Unicef. Even texting $10 could help make a difference! Maraming salamat po (Filipino for Thank you very much)!

It was only my second non-book related trip outside of the US since I first got published. I felt a little guilty about it (proof you are a workaholic: when you feel guilty for taking non-work related trips), but it was for a good cause: to celebrate my mom’s 70th birthday! All she wanted for her birthday was for her loved ones to go to France with her.

My mom is an artist (much like the mom of Mia Thermopolis) and she likes French art, although not so much this kind of French art:

More like the home decorating kind of French art found in Provence:

So my mom, her boyfriend (some of you might remember him as being the inspiration for The Princess Diaries, since he was one of my teachers, and my mom started dating him after my dad died, much like Mia’s mom does in The Princess Diaries, although my dad was not the heir to a royal throne in real life, and in the books, Mia’s dad is not dead); my mom’s boyfriend’s daughter; her husband; He Who Shall Not Be Named In This Blog; me; and my brother and his wife all went to France (along with the Heather and Cooper wedding cake topper from the cover of The Bride Wore Size 12).

You might think it was difficult to find restaurants that could accommodate that many people, some of whom did not speak French, one of whom has to eat gluten-free, one of whom is six feet eight inches tall and kept hitting his head on the small medieval doorways in all the castles we visited, and another of whom has Parkinson’s disease, but actually, we managed quite well, because we had:

“Bon Courage”

That’s what a French cab driver wished us when he dropped us off at our second hotel in Paris, because the staff of the first one was going on strike at midnight and so they were kicking all the guests out (yes! This happened).

It made us feel quite French to be wished “bon courage” during a strike by French workers (the next afternoon they were granted all their demands). Bon courage!

So as you can guess from the above, and perhaps the photo below, things got dicey occasionally:

But we had an amazing time. Mostly it was all incredibly beautiful sunsets, rainbows, cats, and of course castles. And some donkeys.

It wouldn’t be France without amazingly delicious food, bought fresh from the local town markets. Why does everything taste so much better in France?

If you ever go to France, THIS is where you have to stay. It’s where we stayed in the Dordogne (why do so few people in the US know about the Dordogne? But maybe it’s better that way) and it is out of this world.

Now we’re back in the US and there are no more charcuterie platters for lunch (sad), but we all realize how very lucky we were to have had the chance to take this trip. Many thanks to my mom for being born and for insisting that this is what she wanted, and to everyone who pitched in to make the trip so special, including HarperCollins who made an effort to truncate my Bride Wore Size 12 book tour so that we could squeeze in this important family event!

(And I will continue the tour at the Miami Book Festival at the end of this month. Exact dates and times to come!)

It was sobering to come back to the US and realize that this is the one year anniversary of Hurricane Sandy, in which a lot of people lost their lives, their homes, schools, and in some neighborhoods, even their public libraries! Talk about “bon courage!” Sandy survivors have really shown it.

Someone else who’s showing it right now is longtime blogger and Meg Cabot Fiction Club (and one of the first – and possibly only – male) member James “Boothy” Booth of Book Chic Club, who recently posted the sad news that he has Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The prognosis looks good, but he still has to go through a lot of painful chemo treatments, so please keep him in your thoughts!

While I was in France, I didn’t have steady access to wifi, so I couldn’t keep up with what was going on back in the states (which, considering the government shutdown, might have been a good thing), but when I got back the first thing someone told me (ERRONEOUSLY, as it turned out) was that my favorite character from one of my favorite TV shows (The Walking Dead) had died.

(NOTE: This is not true. This person read a spoiler wrong. The character SMILED. She did not die. Don’t ask me how someone could read DIED for SMILED, but this person – who shall remain nameless as always in this blog – did, even though he has a Masters in English Literature.)

Obviously, I was upset! Although I’ve never had cancer or lost a library, loved one, or home to a hurricane -yet- I’ve been through hard times, and one thing that helped get me through those hard times was losing myself in a good fictional story.

Nothing works better to help you forget your own misery for a little while than reading about someone else’s, especially if that person is facing his or her misery with a sword and some “bon courage” (like Michonne on The Walking Dead, who did not, I will repeat, NOT die).

Sometimes it IS necessary for writers to kill off characters in order to further their narrative (case in point: Everyone else who has died on The Walking Dead. And of course, George RR Martin has killed off many characters – and animals – in his Game of Thrones series, but you’ll notice that none of them were particular fan favorites – so far. Except the dire wolves).

I don’t think it’s wrong to be upset if a character you like gets killed off (just ask how I felt when I was 13 and read Mill on the Floss), but it’s always wrong to threaten an author with physical violence if he/she does kill off a character you like.

I mention this because lately there’s been a rash of authors killing off popular characters in their series, and some fans have responded by threatening to punch those authors in the face if they ever meet them. Please don’t do this, even to be funny. Authors are sensitive, like a flower. Not me, obviously, but some authors.

I certainly understand feeling passionate about a book, and wanting it to end a certain way (personally, I want the Khaleesi to marry Jon Snow. There, I’ve said it. Do you hear that, George RR?).

I’m a fan of happy endings, because we live in sad times. One out of four children in this country is on food stamps. One of five women in the US has been raped. Some of us need happy endings.

But sometimes the happy ending we pictured isn’t what the author envisioned. I’m not sure I’d have made the choice Helen Fielding did to have Darcy be dead in Book 3 of the Bridget Jones series (this is not a spoiler, the news was released before the book was). But I understand why she did it, because a widowed, middle-aged Bridget dating provides more material than a happily married Bridget. And a lot of readers seem to be enjoying the book (I still need to read it)!

All I can say further on the subject is, in one of the of the first creative writing workshops I ever took, I noticed that all my other classmates were writing very sad stories at the end of which the main character often committed suicide with rusty razor blades.

Meanwhile, I kept writing humorous stories about girls who got broken up with at the mall (which was especially weird since at the time things were not going well in my home life).

So I started writing sad stories, too, since that’s what I thought you were supposed to do in creative writing workshops (hint: if you want to win a lot of book awards, do this in your writing career as well).

As soon as I’d turned in the first one (about a homeless vet who’d lost his hand in the Vietnam war and so was going to commit suicide with a rusty razor blade), my awesome teacher, Judy Troy, took me aside after class and asked what the hell was going on.

I explained that I wanted to do what everyone else was doing in the class, and make readers cry.

Judy got very irritated.

“It’s easy to make people cry,” she said. ”Anyone can do that! I could make you cry right now while you’re standing front of me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to make people laugh? You have that gift. Don’t waste it! We need more stories to make us laugh. Go back to doing that!”

So I did.

My feeling is this:

So many people in this world have lost so much, and need so many things. But the one thing we all really need right now are more stories to make us laugh, with heroes and heroines who exhibit “bon courage.” We need them so that we, in turn, can feel inspired to show “bon courage” in the face of hardship, too.

I’m not saying there shouldn’t be any sad stories, because that would be ridiculous, and fake, and a waste.

But the sweetest endings, the ones that stay with you the longest, are the ones where, after the long, hard battle, the good guys win. Because that actually does happen, sometimes.

And – although I’m not saying all stories should end this way – maybe then they go to France with their mom for her 70th birthday and have a really good time, with a lot of laughs. And then they all come home and get back to work. And it everything ends up happily ever after … for now!

This would be super depressing if there weren’t so many fun things to look forward to this fall, such as wearing stylish boots (for those of you who don’t live in Florida), the return of Scandal (the dishiest show on television right now), and of course the return of Heather Wells in The Bride Wore Size 12, which is going to be in stores (and available for download) in the U.S. and Canada in about 2 weeks (official pub date 9/24) …

And none of the book tour stops for The Bride Wore Size 12 are going to interfere with Scandal (which premieres Oct 3)!

I’m sure you’re saying to yourself, “But Meg, you’re an award-winning, #1 New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of something like 80 books, with more than 25 million copies sold, in nearly 40 countries. Surely you would not let a mere TV show stop you from making an appearance to promote your new book.”

Olivia Pope of Scandal dedicates her life to protecting the innocent (and also the public images of the nation’s elite)!

Heather Wells of the Size 12 series and the soon-to-be released The Bride Wore Size 12 dedicates her life to protecting the innocent (and also the students housed in the elite college residence hall where she works)!

Both women solve murders, and are having red hot affairs with sinfully sexy men!

Both women love popcorn, and also alcoholic beverages!

Sadly for Olivia, she doesn’t seem anywhere close to marrying her one true love. But wedding bells are ringing for Heather Wells in The Bride Wore Size 12.

Or ARE they?

Yes! They are!

And guess who’s invited to the wedding? YOU!

In The Bride Wore Size 12, a whole new school year has started for assistant resident hall director Heather Wells. Not only that, but she’s finally getting married to her one true love, P.I. Cooper Cartwright!

But you know what the new school year always seems to bring to Heather:

MURDER!

Will she be able to tie the knot – much less get her freshmen settled – without getting involved in a double homicide? The first event in The Bride Wore Size 12celebration book tour is in less than ONE week! Maybe we’ll find out there.

Join me in a special ONLINE chat on Tuesday, September 10 at 7PM EST (4PM PCT) with one of my favorite authors (and people) the beautiful, talented author Rachel Vail.

Space is limited, so to reserve yours, go to Book Talk Nation now. You can join me while I chat with Rachel about very important things such as popcorn and where we get our ideas, and ask any question of your own that you want (within reason. Please don’t ask about that one time we went on that secret mission for the CIA to rescue the President’s children, because we’re still not allowed to talk about it).

Signed copies of both my own AND Rachel’s books will be available for purchase (but copies of The Bride Wore Size 12 won’t ship until the on-sale date of September 24)!

Here’s the complete list of all the other events (so far) for The Bride Wore Size 12 Tour! Note that NONE of them interfere with your Scandal viewing!

For details on registering or ticket purchasing for the signings, please click on the provided event links (which took me a really long time to write out, so seriously, click on them. If they’re wrong, it’s my fault, write and let me know).

(For more details, including ticketing and exact times/locations for the book festival events, go to Where is Meg, or the book festival website, closer to the event date.)

Finally, don’t forget to enter the Heather Wells Bride Wore Size 12 Sweepstakes!
Become one of 45 lucky hostesses to win party favors and books to throw a Heather Wells Wedding Shower. Go here for all the details!

Okay, that’s all for right now even though I have a LOT to say, but I’m saving it for my next entry. I hope you had a great summer and got all rested up for the mystery (and romance) to come this year! I know I did. And I can’t wait to see some of you along the way this fall!

It’s the end of July, and as many of you know, July 31 is Meg Cabot Day (as declared by the mayor of my city of birth, Bloomington, Indiana).

On Meg Cabot Day, everyone is encouraged to do their favorite things (so long as they’re legal).

My favorite legal things to do are writing, hanging around in the sun on or near a body of water, and reading a book (while staying well hydrated with a beverage of your choice).

Don’t be a dork…use sunscreen!

In honor of Meg Cabot Day, I’m giving away Keep Calm and Cabot On Swag (see photo below) as well as autographed copies of my new book, Awaken! To win, post a photo of yourself with your collection of Meg Cabot books on Twitter or Facebook. I’ll choose winners at random.

I’m also opening up my mail bag (really now it’s more of a Twitter and Facebook bag) and answering some of your many questions (many of which are also answered here). As always, I’ve changed the sender’s names slightly to protect their anonymity and help them avoid possible public humiliation:

From Mortified:

Dear Meg,

During the last week of school before summer break, I texted this boy that I like him. He never replied. Now when I see him around town, he points and laughs at me with his friends. I’m pretty sure he’s shown everyone my text. I’m so embarrassed, I’m having nightmares about going back to school where I’m going to have to see him every day. What can I do?

Signed, Mortified

Dear Mortified,

Believe it or not, we’ve all been there. And you’re not the one who should be mortified, HE should. A gentleman would not only have replied, but also kept the information about your admission to himself.

However, as the great Jane Austen points out in her many novels, we can’t always count on boys behaving in a gentlemanly manner, which is why it’s generally better never to put our intimate feelings in writing until we know they are returned.

(Also, though Jane Austen never mentioned this, never send intimate photos of yourself to ANYONE for ANY reason.)

Liar.

What’s done is done, however, and this uncouth lout isn’t worth worrying about for a second longer. When you return to school in the fall, you’re going to act like a gentleman (or lady. Whichever you prefer). That means being distantly polite to this cowardly worm. Throw yourself into every extracurricular activity you possibly can (that you enjoy, and that he doesn’t participate in). This way you will meet new people, well outside his social sphere. You will be too busy (and having too much fun) to think about him.

What generally happens in these types of cases is that he will come crawling back to you (because like many foolish lads, he craves attention, and you are not giving him any). Please tell him politely but firmly that you are sorry, but you have moved on.

And once you realize that nightmares are actually good things — scientifically proven to be your subconscious trying to help you out by rehearsing possible scenarios it thinks could occur — they will stop being seeming so bad.

So soon that jerk, like your nightmares, is going to fade away, and you will live to love again, hopefully more wisely.

From Iluvgeeks:

Dear Meg,

I’m bored. My mom says I’m too young to get a summer job, and camp is over. What can I do until school starts?

Dear Iluvgeeks,

Obviously, you should grab some books and head to the pool or beach (or your backyard hammock. Don’t forget the bug spray, lyme disease is at an all time high). You can find books at your local library (or bookstore or shopping center. Often they are available online, and also at Target and Wal-Mart). Here are some books I recommend:

Awaken, the last book in the Abandon series! It came out July 2 (you can read all about it here, plus check out some sneak peeks and fun extras, like the playlist I listened to while writing it, etc). You can read the whole series in order now (if you haven’t already).

Isn’t it lovely?

A book I’ve enjoyed reading this summer is Annie Choi’s SHUT UP, YOU’RE WELCOME: Thoughts on Life, Death and Other Inconveniences.

Annie may be most well known for her satiric “Dear Architects” letter printed in Princeton University’s Pidgin Magazine, but everything she writes seems to be comedy gold. Here’s a book trailer about Shut Up:

I also have a story out in a just-released fairy tale anthology for readers in Brazil! My story is called The Model and the Monster. It’s a modern re-telling of “Beauty and the Beast.”

Of course you’ll have to learn Brazilian Portuguese in order to read it, but fortunately you’ve got plenty of free time.

Finally, since you’re so bored, take this survey. At the end of it, you’ll be rewarded with a sneak peek of the latest entry into my Heather Wells series, THE BRIDE WORE SIZE 12. The book won’t be out until September 24, so this is your big chance to find out something none of your friends know yet.

From Outtatime:

Dear Meg: I hate all my clothes. What’s something cute I can wear to school when it starts in the fall?

Dear Outtatime,

Are you kidding me? Did you not read what I wrote at the beginning of this blog about the contest to win free swag for Meg Cabot Day? All you need to do is post some photos of yourself holding some of my books, or go the Meg Cabot Store and stock up! You will look adorbs.

From LiveLongandProsper:

So last year at school my best friends were all in the same homeroom. I was in the other one. I maybe had two classes with them! Now they all have in side jokes and are super close. I am worried I will feel left out this year. What should I do?

Dear LiveLongandProsper:

I’m so sorry this happened to you! Sometimes our best girlfriends can hurt us even more than uncouth boys can. For proof, watch any reality show featuring housewives, or read my books featuring Allie Finkle (it all starts in fourth grade).

I would definitely try talking to your best friends about how you feel. Maybe they honestly don’t realize that you feel left out, and would try harder to include you if they knew how you felt.

If that doesn’t work, then maybe it’s time to try making some new friends in your own homeroom. You know the old song from Girl Scouts:

Make new friends, but keep the old—one is silver, but the other gold!

Now go out there and make some new friends (but keep the old).

From WriterGirl:

Dear Meg,

I was wondering whether you have writer’s block often. I write fan-fiction and I know that others who do so too often have writer’s block. I think you mentioned to put it aside first and it will eventually come back, but I was wondering: What if it never does? Does that happen to you?

Dear WriterGirl,

Of course I’ve experienced writer’s block. Like most writers, it happens every time I write a book!

But I’ve never suffered from permanent writer’s block, because unlike with fan fiction, I make up my own characters and the worlds they live in when I’m writing. Though it might take a while, eventually – no matter what disaster I’ve thrown them into – I know I will manage to get my characters out of it, because I created them, the disaster they are in, and the entire world in which they exist, so somewhere in my subconscious is the answer.

The problem with writing fan fiction (I know, because I used to write Star Wars fan fiction for fun) is that those characters and that world were created by someone else. The answers lie in the original author’s subconscious, not yours.

George, you know we love you.

So I believe it IS possible to develop permanent writer’s block while working on a piece of fan fiction, because you did not create those characters or those worlds. Someone else did. Familiar as you and all the fans might be with its characters and its world, you don’t have all the answers. No one but the original author does. You are limited by the information you’ve been given by the story canon so far. This can be creatively stifling.

So the solution to that kind of writer’s block is to free yourself of the bonds of some other author’s world, and invent your own.

Hope that helps!

From RoyalWatcher:

Dear Meg:

What does Princess Mia think of Prince William and Duchess Kate’s new royal baby?

Dear Royal Watcher:

She’s so excited! Didn’t you see her royal message on Twitter?

Well, that’s it for now. As always, thanks for reading, and Happy Meg Cabot Day!

It’s summer! Well, for many of us. And you know what that means: Pool time, beach time, and reading-books-by-the-pool-and-beach time!

But if you’re a writer with a new book coming out — mine’s Awaken, the third and final book in my Abandon trilogy, which will be out July 2 as both a hardcover and e book. Click here for chapter excerpts and extras, more of which will be added every week — summer also means book tour time.

Which means getting asked the one question that I dread more than any other:

“What’s your inspiration?”

The reason I hate this question is because I hate lying. I’d love to answer this question truthfully, like all my writer friends do, but I’ve never felt like I could.

“Music,” one of my writer friends always says in reply to this question.

“The laughter of my children!” says another.

“The sound of ocean waves as they lap against the shore,” says a third.

I like the sound of music and ocean waves, and I certainly don’t hate the sound of kids laughing.

But none of these things inspire me to write.

Here is what inspires me:

Yeah, it’s exactly what you’re thinking.

Anger.

When I get mad, I write.

I don’t know why. I’ve always been this way. As soon as something (or someone) pisses me off, I pick up a pen (or laptop) and start writing. (When I was a really little kid, before I could write, I’d draw to vent my rage.)

It never took much to set me off: the kids who made fun of the way I talked in school (I was in Speech and Hearing). A boy who was mean to me on the playground.

Later, a publisher who rejected one of my stories. Someone who didn’t even know me saying something nasty about me on the Internet.

Nowadays, all I have to do is think about the fact that one in four women in America have been sexually assaulted by age 18, but 97% of rapists never serve a day in jail, child pornography is still a multi billion dollar industry, and 55% of it comes from the United States – and I’m burning with rage.

The book I’m writing doesn’t have to be about the topic making me angry: I just need to be writing SOMETHING, so I can feel as if my words will be making a difference.

(And thankfully I hear from enough of you that I know they do, which is what keeps me going.)

I know I have a reputation for looking and sounding happy and cheerful all the time, and this isn’t an act: I AM happy and cheerful.

But that’s because I’ve gotten my day’s worth of rage out: through whatever book I’m working on.

But for some reason, for a long time, I felt I could never admit out loud that this is the way I work.

For one thing, anger is popularly assumed to be a destructive emotion that causes heart attacks, stroke, road rage, terrorism, and wars. Right? It hardly seemed proper for the author of The Princess Diaries to go around saying, “What inspires me? Why, unadulterated rage, that’s what. Next question?”

For another, in our society, it isn’t considered “nice” to express emotions like rage, especially in front of people who are going, “I’m inspired by my muse, a lovely fairy creature who peeps in my garden window.”

I’ll admit, I’ve always felt a bit like a freak, knowing my inspiration is so different from other authors (but still, a muse? Seriously, every time I hear an author mention her muse, I think how much I’d liked to kick that muse in the nuts).

I’ve often lied about it when asked, just to make myself sound more normal:

To me this sounded better than the truth, which I was sure no one would understand or sympathize with.

But then a couple of months ago I visited a new acupuncturist (I go to acupuncture a few times a year because of some nerve damage I suffered after a routine surgery. The acupuncture is the only thing that relieves the pain).

The new acupuncturist, who’d never met me before, asked me to stick out my tongue. I was surprised, since no acupuncturist had ever asked me to do this (nor has any asked me to do so since).

“I know, it’s weird,” “Dr. M” said, sheepishly. “But the Chinese believe you can tell a lot about a person’s health from their tongue.”

“Um,” I said. “OK.” I stuck out my tongue.

“Wow,” he said, looking at my tongue. “This is going to sound odd, so please forgive me, but would you describe your natural emotional state as … angry?”

I stuck my tongue back into my mouth and stared at him in astonishment. “How did you know????”

(Honestly I think I do a pretty good job of covering up my naturally angry state. No doctor has ever caught on to it before.)

That’s when Dr. M explained that he could tell from the colors on my tongue that I was suffering from an imbalance, what in Chinese medicine is described as “being like a kite flying high in the wind, only with no one holding its strings. And the wind fueling the kite is anger.”

OK, normally I’m not into this kind of stuff because it all seems suspiciously muse-y. But I couldn’t help bursting out:

“That’s me! I’m angry all the time! Oh my God, what am I going to do?”

“It’s not a bad thing at all,” the doctor said with a laugh. “Anger is one of our most powerful emotions. It’s only terrible if it’s used in a destructive way. New studies show that anger can be enormously beneficial if it’s used to inspire creativity, or motivate positive, peaceful change, the way Nelson Mandela and Martin Luther King, Jr. did. Another recent study, in fact, found that people who tend to feel angry rather than happy report a generally higher feeling of well-being, while scoring higher for emotional intelligence. But they also didn’t stifle their feelings — they expressed them.”

This was the best news I’d heard in a long, long time.

“Did they express their feeling by punching their enemies in the face with brass knuckles?” I asked hopefully.

“No,” Dr. M answered, laughing. “By finding appropriate channels for their aggression. May I ask what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a writer,” I said with a sigh. “Every time I get mad, I write a book.”

“Oh,” Dr. M said, brightening. “That’s a great outlet for anger! Do a lot of people get murdered in your books?”

“Sometimes. Although there’s usually romance, too. And humor. With a dash of mystery and friendship.”

“That’s perfect,” Dr. M said. “That shows you’re working the ying and the yang — love and hate. You have to have both, you see. Your kite is fueled by anger — that’s the wind that’s keeping it aloft, and supplying your creative energy. But it’s love that holds your kite strings, and keeps you — and your kite — grounded. It’s what’s keeping you from being consumed by your anger, and makes you able to use your fire for creativity, to peacefully change the world for the better.”

“Wow,” I said. “Thank you so much, doctor. I never knew any of this before. I always thought it was wrong to get mad.”

“Anger is only wrong if it’s vented the wrong way,” Dr. M said. “Expressed in a healthy way, it’s a powerful source of motivational energy … for good! So keep getting mad … but keep it under control by holding tight to those kite strings, writing books, and getting accupuncture. And please don’t buy any brass knuckles.”

So I took his advice, and this is what came out:

I won’t be lying anymore about the source of my inspiration. I might even have sprinkled a little of Dr. M’s advice into Awaken. See if you can find where by grabbing a copy of the book on its release day July 2!

And be sure to also check out the newly redesigned Meg Cabot Message Boards, a community of readers and writing club for Meg Cabot readers (and aspiring writers) that is getting close to celebrating its 10 Year Anniversary!!! Meet plenty of other “kite-fliers” just like me, expressing our anger (in a healthy and appropriate manner)! We just launched an exciting new feature, you can now live chat with other members of the forums!

And remember … this summer? Go ahead and get mad (but keep it under control)!

So much has been going on lately I hardly know where to begin. So to narrow things down (and keep this post under seven billion words), I’ll try sticking to book related news. Like:

Did you know the Mediator series got optioned by FremantleMedia?

You didn’t? That’s okay. I know you’ve been busy.

If you don’t know what FremantleMedia is, they’re the company that’s produced a ton of your favorite television shows, like American Idol and The Biggest Loser, but they do dramas and comedies, too.

So, this is really good news. Stay tuned for more updates!

Here’s some other book related news for May:

Underworld is finally available in paperback! To celebrate, I’m holding a giveaway of advanced reader copies of Awaken (which will be out this July), the final book of the Abandon series. Post a picture of your copy of Underworld or Abandon in a funny place on Twitter or Facebook or Instagram, with the hashtag #winawaken, and you could win a copy of the uncorrected proof Awaken.

Hmmm, pretty.

(Death is just getting warmed up, you know. And so am I.)

The contest is only going to go on for a another week or so, so enter soon!

I’m giving out another prize in May, but this one’s not going to you or me. It’s going to an author at the Children’s Choice Book Awards and YOU can vote here to decide who you want me to give it to!

You can even come to the gala if you want. Buy your ticket here! (All the money goes to a very good cause, Every Child a Reader, a 501(c)3 literacy organization committed to instilling a lifelong love of reading in children).

Here’s another book-related opportunity for you to do good in May:

I’m giving away all of the books seen in the photo below, signed (including an uncorrected proof of the final book in the Abandon trilogy, Awaken) to the reader who bids the most on them in New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak’s annual online auction to raise money for diabetes research!

It’s for diabetes research, so be generous! I know you know someone who’s been affected by this terrible disease!

(Slutty-McSlut-Slut-A-Lot has been unaffected by diabetes, but she feels bad for people who have been.)

What else is happening that is book related? Well, among other things I’ll be at some book festivals in September for the next Heather Wells book! I’ll post the details (such as where I’m going and when, exactly) later. That book used to be called Size Twelve is the New Black.

But that title is so 2012! That book (which will be out in September) is now called The Bride Wore Size 12 (don’t you love it?), and the cover looks like this:

Heather Wells is used to having her cake and eating it, too, but this time her cake might be cooked — her wedding cake, that is.

With her upcoming nuptials to hunky PI Cooper Cartwright only weeks away, Heather’s already stressed. But when a pretty junior turns up dead, Heather’s sure things can’t get worse — until every student in the dorm where she works is a possible suspect, and then Heather’s long-lost mother shows up.

With a murder to solve and a wedding to pull off, Heather doesn’t have time for a tearful mother and bride reunion. Instead of wedding bells, she could be hearing wedding bullets. Heather’s determined to bring the bad guys to justice, even if it’s the last thing she does … and this time, it just might be.

I got a chance to read a sneak peek of this book and I LOVED IT. Everyone should buy a copy of this book because it’s like a warm spring breeze after a long dystopian winter!

From Publishers Weekly:

Paul Rudnick’s Gorgeous: Suppose fairy tales came true. Suppose an ordinary teenage girl from a Missouri trailer park was suddenly on the cover of Vogue, dating a Hollywood hunk, and possibly in line to be the next queen of England? That’s what happens to 18-year-old Becky Randle in playwright/screenwriter Rudnick’s YA debut, an inspired mashup of familiar stories—commoner becomes princess, ugly duckling turns beautiful—made new. Instead of three wishes, Becky, rechristened Rebecca, receives three dresses from reclusive super-designer Tom Kelly, who knew Becky’s late mother. The ensembles transform Becky into nothing less than the most beautiful woman in the world—“Once I caught sight of my reflection I was riveted, hopelessly enraptured, as if I was watching the most impossibly glamorous car accident, or the birth of the baby Jesus, if Jesus had been the world’s first supermodel”—with a couple catches. With writing that’s hilarious, profane, and profound (often within a single sentence), Rudnick casts a knowing eye on our obsession with fame, brand names, and royalty to create a feel-good story about getting what you want without letting beauty blind you to what’s real. Ages 14–up.

Some of you probably know Paul Rudnick from his long running movie review column in Premiere Magazine (and now for Entertainment Weekly) under the name of Libby Gelman-Waxner, or maybe for his satirical pieces in the New Yorker (one of my favorites is the irreverent “Married to Jesus: Mrs. Melissa Christ”). Paul also wrote the screenplays for some of my favorite movies, including Isn’t She Great (the Jackie Suzann story), In & Out, and many more.

Well, his book is even funnier. Yes, it has some dirty words (does anyone know a teen who hasn’t uttered a dirty word or two?) but more importantly, it has a heroine with genuine warmth and heart (with a best friend “named after the fancy chocolate, Rocher”).

Anyone who doesn’t read this book will be missing out.

Guess who else has a book coming out this spring? Lauren Graham! YES! From Gilmore Girls and Parenthood (could you believe that finale? I know, I cried, too).

Here it is!

Guess what? I also got to read a sneak peek copy of Someday Someday Maybe (it’s out April 30) too! It’s a YA, too, and REALLY GOOD (only in a different way than Gorgeous).

It’s about a girl pursuing her dream of being an actress, living in NYC in the 1990s, taking whatever work she can get and just trying to make it. There are tons of great parts, but the two that really stood out to me were the doodled calendar entries (they look like real calendar entries straight out of a real day runner circa 1995!) and the fact that it’s filled with zingers like (summaries, not direct quotes):

Heroine’s father, on the phone to heroine, offering career advice:

“You know, honey, there’s this new show on TV, called ‘The Friends.’ Why don’t you get a part on that show?”

Heroine: “Dad, it’s called ‘Friends.’ And I think they have all the friends they need. But thanks for the tip.”

So funny.

Well, that’s all the book related news I can think of for now (admittedly, I’m writing this from a hotel overlooking Disneyworld in Orlando, so I’m slightly distracted. I’m not going to tell you why I’m at Disneyworld, even though it’s book-related – NOTHING TO DO WITH MOVIES OR TV THOUGH. I’ll tell you someday, someday maybe)!

If only we could all stick to book-related news (because there was nothing more serious to talk about). Wouldn’t the world be a happier place?

Every year teachers let me know that this post has become part of their classroom 9/11 curriculum, so I will continue to post it every year. Here it is, for those who weren’t around that day:

Meg’s 9/11 Diary

9/11/2001 was one of those rare days where sloth was rewarded. I know several people who are still alive today because they were late to work that morning, or stopped to get coffee to help them feel a little less groggy.

I got woken up in my apartment on 12th Street and 4th Avenue by a phone call from my friend Jen.

“Look out your window,” Jen said.

That is when I saw the smoke from the first plane.

I called my husband’s office first thing. I couldn’t see his building from our apartment, but I could see the building ACROSS from his, which was the Trade Center, and black smoke was billowing out of it.

“What was happening?” I wondered.

Jen didn’t know. No one knew.

Was he all right? I knew he worked on a really high floor, and it looked as if whatever had happened to that tower across from his, it had to be happening right in front of his office window.

I couldn’t get through to him. I couldn’t make any outgoing calls from my phone that day. For some reason, people could call me, but I couldn’t call anyone else.

It turned out this was due to the massive volume of calls going on in my part of the city that day.

But I didn’t know that then.

Sirens started up. It was the engine from the firehouse across the street from my apartment building. It was a very small firehouse. All the guys used to sit outside it on folding chairs on nice days, joshing with the neighbors who were walking their dogs, and with my doormen. The old ladies on my street always brought them cookies.

9/11/01 was a very, very nice day. The sky was a very pure blue and it was warm outside.

Now all the firemen from the station across from my apartment building were rushing out to the fire downtown.

Every last one of them would be dead in an hour. But none of us knew that then.

I turned on New York 1, the local news channel for New York City. Pat Kiernan, my favorite newscaster, was saying that a plane had hit one of the towers of the World Trade Center.

Weird, I thought. Was the pilot drunk? How could someone not see a building that big, and run into it with a plane?

It was right then that Luz, my housekeeper, showed up. I’d forgotten it was Tuesday, the day she comes to clean. When she saw what I was watching, she looked worried.

“I just dropped my son off at his college,” she said. “It’s right next to the World Trade Center.”

“My husband works across the street from the World Trade Center,” I said.

“Is he all right?” Luz wanted to know. “What’s happening down there?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I can’t reach him.”

Luz tried to call her son on his cell phone. She, too, could not get through.

We didn’t know that our cell servers used towers that were located on top of the World Trade Center, and they all had stopped working.

We both stood there staring at the TV, not really knowing what to do. It was as we were watching that something weird happened on the TV, right before our eyes: the OTHER tower — the one that hadn’t been hit — suddenly exploded.

I thought maybe one of the helicopters that was filming the disaster had gotten too close.

But Luz said, “No. A plane hit it. I saw it. That was a plane.”

I hadn’t seen a plane. I said, “No. No, how could that be? There can’t be TWO drunk pilots.”

“Another plane has hit the World Trade Center,” Pat said. “It looks as if another plane — a commercial jet — has hit the World Trade Center. And we are getting reports that a plane has just hit the Pentagon.”

That’s when I grabbed Luz. And Luz grabbed me. We both started to cry. We sat on the couch in my living room, hugging each other, and crying as we watched what was happening on TV, which was what was happening a dozen blocks from where we sat, where both the people we loved were.

We could see things flying out of the burning buildings. Pat said that those things were people.

That’s when my phone rang. I grabbed it, but it wasn’t my husband. It was his mother. Where was he? she wanted to know. Was he all right?

I said I didn’t know. I said I was trying to keep the line clear, in case he called. She said she understood but to call her as soon as I heard anything, and hung up.

Then the phone rang again. It was my husband’s sister-in-law. Then it rang again. It was MY mother.

The phone rang all morning. It was never my husband. It was always family or friends, wondering if he was all right.

“I don’t know,” I kept telling them. “I don’t know.”

Luz went up to the roof of my building to see if she could see anything more from there than what they were showing on New York 1. While she was gone, I went into my bedroom to get dressed (I was still wearing my pajamas).

All I could think, as I looked into my closet, trying to figure out what to wear, was that my husband was probably dead. I didn’t see how anybody could be down in that part of Manhattan and still be alive. All I could see were things falling —and people jumping — out of those buildings. Anyone on the streets down below would have to be killed by all of that.

I remember exactly what I put on that day: olive green capris and a black T-shirt, with my black Steve Madden slides. I remember thinking, “This will be my Identifying My Dead Husband’s Body outfit. I will never, ever wear it again after this day.”

I knew this because when I worked at the dorm at NYU, we had quite a few students kill themselves, in various ways. Every time a body was discovered, it was so horrible. All the people involved in the discovery could never wear the same clothes we wore that day again, because of the memory.

Luz came back down from the roof, very excited. No, she hadn’t seen if the buildings in which my husband and her son were in were all right. But she’d seen thousands — THOUSANDS — of people coming down 4th Avenue, the busy street I lived off of at the time. 4th Avenue is always crazy crowded with honking cars, buses, taxis, bike messengers, you name it.

Not today. Today all the cars and buses were gone, and the entire avenue was crowded with people.

“Walking,” Luz said. “They’re WALKING DOWN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET.”

I ran to look out the window. Luz was right. Instead of the constant stream of cars I’d gotten used to seeing outside our living room, I saw wall to wall people. They had taken over the street. They were coming from the Battery, where the Trade Center is located, shoulder to shoulder, ten deep in the middle of the road, like a parade or a rally. There were tens of thousands of them.

There were men in business suits, and some in khakis. There were women in skirts and dresses, walking barefoot or in shredded pantyhose, holding their shoes because their high heels hurt too much and they hadn’t had time to grab their commuter running shoes. I saw the ladies who worked in the manicure shop across the street from my building running outside with the flip flops they put on their customers’ feet when they’ve had a pedicure (the flip flops the staff always make sure they get back before you leave).

But today, the staff was giving the flip flops to the women who were barefoot. They were giving away the flip flops.

That’s when I got REALLY freaked out.

The manicurists weren’t the only ones trying to help. The men who worked in the deli on the corner were running outside with bottles of water to give to the hot, thirsty marchers. New York City deli owners, GIVING water away. Usually they charged $2.

It was like the world had turned upside down.

“They have to be in there,” Luz said, about her son and my husband, pointing to the crowd. “They’re walking with them, and that’s what’s taking so long.”

Then Luz ran downstairs to see if anyone in the crowd was coming from the same college her son went to, anyone who might have seen him.

I was afraid to leave my apartment, though, because I thought my husband might try to call. Not knowing what else to do, I logged onto the computer. My email was still working, even if the phones weren’t. I emailed my husband: WHERE ARE YOU?

No reply.

A friend from Indiana had emailed to ask if there was anything she could do. At the time, the only thing I could think of was, “Give blood.”

My friend, and everyone she knew, gave blood that day. So many people gave blood that there were lines around the corner to give it.

After a month, a lot of that surplus blood had to be destroyed, because they didn’t have room to store it all. And there turned out to be no use for it, anyway. There were few survivors to give blood to.

My friend Jen, the one who’d woken me up, e’d me from her job at NYU. Fred (out of respect for this person’s desire for anonymity, I have changed his name here), one of Jen’s employees, and also a volunteer EMT, had jumped on his bike and headed downtown to see if there was anything he could do to help.

Jen herself was organizing a massive effort to set up shelter for students who didn’t live on campus, since the subways and commuter trains had stopped running, and the kids who commuted to school would have no way of getting home that night. Jen was trying to arrange for cots to be set up in the gym for them.

She ended up staying in the city too that night. She had no way to get back to her house in Connecticut.

Another co-worker from NYU, my friend Jack, did manage to reach his spouse, who worked in the Trade Center, that day. Jack used to train the RAs. He would ask me to “interrupt” his training with a fake administrative temper tantrum — “Why are you in this room?” I would demand. “You never reserved it!”— and then he and I would “fight” about it, and then after I left he would ask the RAs what would have been a better way to handle the situation . . . and by the way, did any of them remember what I was wearing? After they’d tell him, he’d have me come back into the room, and point out that every single of them was wrong about what I’d had on. This was to show how unreliable witness testimony can be.

Jack’s wife had just walked eighty floors down one of the Towers to reach the ground safely, only to realize the guys in her IT department were still up there, backing up data for the company. Once she reached the ground, and saw how bad things really were, she tried calling them to tell them to forget backing up and just COME DOWN, but couldn’t get hold of them.

So she went back up to MAKE THEM come down, because who doesn’t love their IT guys?

“Why did you go back up?” Jack asked her, when he finally reached her. By that time she, along with the IT guys, had become trapped in the fire and smoke.

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” she said. Of course it did. She was married to Jack. Jack would have done the same thing. She told Jack to say good bye to their twins toddlers for her. That was the time they spoke.

I can never think of this, or of Jack’s happy, cheerful greeting every time I saw him, or the stunned looks on the RAs faces when they realized we’d pulled one over on them, without wanting to cry. It seems so unfair.

Another friend, a pilot who had access to air traffic control radar, e’d me to say all the planes in the U.S. were being grounded — that what had happened had been the result of highjackings. That it was a commercial jet that had hit the Pentagon, where my friend’s father-in-law worked (they eventually found him, safe and sound. He’d been stuck in traffic on his way to the Pentagon when the plane hit).

But another friend – a girl I’d worked with when I’d been a receptionist in my husband’s office, a girl whom I’d helped pick out a wedding dress, and who, since the big day, had quit her job to raise the four kids she’d had – wasn’t so lucky. She never saw her husband, who worked at the Trade Center, again after he left for work that morning.

And this time he really WAS crying. Because one of the towers was collapsing.

I watched, not believing my eyes. Since having moved to New York City in 1989, I had become accustomed to using the Twin Towers as my own personal compass point for the direction “South,” since they’re on the southern tip of the island, and visible from dozens of blocks away. Wherever you were in the maze of streets that made up the Village, all you had to do to orient yourself was find the Twin Towers, and you knew which direction to go in.

(If you ever watched closely during the movie “When Harry Met Sally,” you can see the towers beneath the Washington Square arch in the scene where Sally drops Harry off when they first arrive in New York.)

And now one of those towers was coming down.

I don’t remember anything else about that moment except that, as I watched the TV in horror, the front door to my apartment opened, and, assuming it was Luz back from the street, I turned to tell her, “It’s falling down! It’s FALLING DOWN!”

Only it wasn’t Luz. It was my husband.

He said, “What’s falling down? Why are you crying?”

Because HE HAD NO IDEA WHAT WAS GOING ON.

Because my husband, being my husband, had picked up his briefcase after the first plane hit and said, “Let’s go,” to everyone in his department, took the elevators downstairs, and insisted everyone start walking for our apartment, because it was the closest place to where they were that seemed unlikely to be hit by an airplane.

(He told me later he’d worried they were going to try for the Stock Exchange, or the federal buildings you always see on Law and Order, and so had made everyone take the long way home around those buildings, which is why it took so long to get there).

They had to dodge the bodies of the people who jumped from the burning towers because they couldn’t stand the heat anymore. They saw the desk chairs and PCs that had been blown out of the offices so high above littering the street like tickertape from a parade. They saw the second plane hit while they were on the street, and ducked into a cell phone store until the rubble from the explosion settled. A piece of plane, nearly twenty feet long, flew past them, and landed in a parking lot, just missing Trinity Church, one of the oldest churches in this country.

And they kept walking.

I don’t know what people normally do when someone they love, who they were convinced was dead, suddenly walks through the door. All I know is how I reacted: I flung my arms around him. And then I started yelling, “WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME?”

“I tried, I couldn’t get through,” he said. “What’s falling down?”

Because they had no idea. All they knew was that the city was under attack (which they had surmised by all the airplanes).

So my husband and his colleagues gathered in our living room—hot, thirsty, but alive, and the ones who lived in New Jersey wondering how (and if) they were going to get home (eventually, that night, they all caught boats – see the film below -and when they arrived on the Jersey side, they were hosed down by people in Haz-Mat suits, in case they were carrying “chemicals” on their clothes. At that time, there was some belief the planes might have been carrying nuclear weapons or something. They were each given a single paper towel with which to dry off).

Watch this amazing film about the “boat lift” from Manhattan. It will make you proud to be human:

Luz, not wanting to go home until she’d heard from her son, who was supposed to meet her after class in my building, cleaned. I told her not to, but she said it helped keep her mind off what was happening.

So she vacuumed, while eleven people sat in my two room apartment and watched the Twin Towers fall.

It wasn’t long after the second tower came down that our friends David and Susan from Indiana, who lived in a beautiful condo in the shadow of the Twin Towers with their two children, showed up at our door, their kids and half the employees from their office (which was in our neighborhood) behind them.

They had been some of the people shown on the news escaping from the massive dust cloud that erupted when the towers fell. They’d abandoned their daughter’s stroller and run for it, while shop owners tossed water on their backs as they passed by, to keep their clothes from catching on fire.

In their typical way, however, they had stopped on their way to our place to pick up some bagels.

For all they knew, their apartment was burning down, or being buried under ten feet of rubble. But they’d stopped for bagels, because they’d been worried people might be hungry. Or maybe people just do things in times like that to try to be normal. I don’t know. They didn’t forget the cream cheese, either.

I took the kids into my bedroom, where there was a second TV, because I didn’t think they should see what everyone was watching in the living room, which was footage of what they had just escaped from.

I set up my Playstation for Jake, who was seven or so at the time, to use, while Shai, just turning 4, and I did a puzzle on my floor. Both kids were worried about Mr. Fluff, their pet rabbit, whom they’d been forced to leave behind in their apartment, because there’d been no time to get him (their parents had run from work and grabbed both kids from school).

“Do you think he’s all right?” Jake wanted to know.

At the time, I didn’t see how anything south of Canal Street could be alive, but I told Jake I was sure Mr. Fluff was fine.

This was when Shai and I had the following conversation:

“Are planes going to fly into THIS building?” Shai wanted to know. She was crying as she looked out the windows of my thirteenth floor apartment.

Me: “No. No planes are going to fly into this building.”

Shai (still crying): “How do you know?”

Me: “Because all the planes are grounded. No more planes are allowed in the air.”

Shai: “Ever?”

Me: “No. Just until the bad guys who did this get caught.”

Shai: “Who’s going to catch the bad guys?”

Me: “The police will catch them.”

Shai: “No, they won’t. All the police are dead. I saw them going into the building that just fell down.”

Me (trying not to cry): “Shai. Not all the police are dead.”

Shai (crying harder): “Yes, they ARE. I SAW THEM.”

Me (showing Shai a picture from my family photo album of a policeman in his uniform): “Shai, this is my brother, Matt. He’s a policeman. And he’s not dead, I promise. And he, and other policemen like him, and probably even the Army, will catch the bad guys.”

Shai (no longer crying): “Okay.”

And she went back to her puzzle.

Watching from my living room window, we saw the crowds of people streaming out from what was soon to be called Ground Zero, thin to a trickle, then stop altogether. That was when 4th Avenue became crowded with vehicular traffic again. But not taxis or bike messengers.

Soon, our building was shaking from the wheels of hundreds of Humvees and Army trucks, as the National Guard moved in. The Village was blockaded from 14th Street down. You couldn’t come in or out without showing proof that you lived there (a piece of mail with your name and address on it, along with a photo ID).

The next day, after having spent the night on our fold-out couch in the living room, Shai’s parents snuck back to their apartment (they had to sneak, because the National Guard wasn’t letting anyone at all, even with proof that they lived there, into the area. For weeks afterwards, on every corner from 14th Street down, stood a National Guardsman, armed with an assault rifle. For days, you couldn’t get milk, bread, or a newspaper below Union Square because they weren’t allowing any delivery trucks — or any vehicles at all, except Army vehicles — into the area), and found Mr. Fluff alive and well.

They snuck him back out, so that later that day, we were able to put the entire family on a bus to the Hamptons, where they lived for the rest of the year.

As my husband and I were walking back to our apartment from the bus stop where we’d seen off our friends, we saw a familiar face standing on the corner of 4th Avenue and 12th Street, where we lived:

Bill Clinton and his daughter Chelsea Clinton, asking people in our neighborhood if we were all right, and if there was anything they could do to help.

I didn’t go up to shake the ex-President’s hand, because I was too shy.

But I stood there watching him and Chelsea, and something about seeing them, so genuinely concerned and kind (and not there for press or publicity, because there WAS no press, there was never any mention of their visit AT ALL in any newspaper or on any news broadcast I saw that day), made me burst into tears, after having held them in the whole time Shai had been in my apartment, since I didn’t want to upset her.

But you couldn’t NOT cry. It was impossible. Everyone was doing it …so much so that the deli across the street put a sign in its window: “No Crying, Please.” Our doormen were crying. Even Rudy Giuliani, New York City’s mayor (whom I will admit up until this crisis I had not particularly liked for cheating on his very nice wife, Donna Hanover, who used to be on the Food Network), kept crying.

But he also kept showing up on New York 1, no matter what time you turned it on, even at two in the morning, there he was, like he never slept, always crying but also telling us It’s going to be all right, which was BRILLIANT.

The same day we put Shai and her family on a bus to the Hamptons, September 12 — which also happened to be poor Shai’s birthday — companies (even RIVAL companies) all over Manhattan offered up their conference rooms and spare offices to my husband’s company, so that it would be able to remain in business, since all its windows had been blown out, and asbestos had fallen all over everything.

Since he was the only person in the company who lived downtown, my husband was elected for the duty of removing all the sensitive data from the now mostly destroyed office, which meant he had to pass through the Brooks Brothers in his building’s foyer, from which he had bought so many of his business shirts and ties. The Brooks Brothers was now serving as Ground Zero’s morgue.

While under escort of the National Guard, he and guardsmen–the first to enter his floor since the event–found a body in an emergency stairwell. It was determined to be the body of someone from another office, who had probably suffered a heart attack while trying to evacuate. The body was removed and taken to the morgue while my husband watched. (He threw away the clothes he wore that day.)

For the next week in Lower Manhattan, even if you wanted to forget, for a minute, what had happened on that cloudless Tuesday morning, you couldn’t. The front window of my apartment building filled with Missing Person posters of loved ones that had been lost in the Trade Center. The outside walls of St. Vincent’s Hospital were papered with them as well, and Union Square, at 14th Street, became an impromptu memorial to the dead, filled with candles and flowers. So did the front doors of every local fire station, including the one across the street from my building. The old ladies who used to bring cookies there stood in front of it and cried.

You couldn’t go outside during that week — until it finally rained Friday night, four days later – without smelling the acrid smoke from Ground Zero … and, in fact, you were encouraged to wear surgical masks outdoors. An eerie grey fog covered everything. Some of us tried to brave it by not wearing masks — like Londoners in the Blitz — meeting for lunch like nothing had happened, but it made your eyes burn. I have no idea how the rescue workers at Ground Zero could bear it.

It wasn’t until employees from a barbecue restaurant drove all the way to Manhattan from Memphis, and stationed their tanker-sized smokers right next to Ground Zero, and then started giving away free barbecue to all the rescue workers there for weeks on end, that the smell changed to something other than death. Everyone loved those guys. It was just barbecue. Except it wasn’t just barbecue. It was a sign that things were going to be all right.

But of course, for a lot of New Yorkers that day, things were never going to be all right again. While I was celebrating the fact that my husband had come home, Fred – Jen’s employee, the EMT who had ridden his bike downtown to see if there was anything he could do – couldn’t find his crew. This was before the buildings fell, before anyone had any idea those buildings COULD fall, when the police and firemen were still streaming into them, thinking they could get people out.

The crew that Fred normally volunteered with were inside one of those buildings, helping people down the stairs. Fred couldn’t find them, because all the cell towers were down, and communication was so sketchy. Someone told Fred to drive a bus they’d found, and help evacuate people out of the World Trade Center area.

Fred didn’t want to be outside driving a bus. He wanted to be inside with his crew, saving people.

But since he couldn’t find his crew, he agreed to drive the bus.

Then the buildings came down. Later, Fred found out that the crew he normally volunteered with had been one of the many rescue squads buried under the rubble.

Like a lot of the rescue workers who lost coworkers in the attack, Fred seemed to feel guilty about having survived, while his friends had not. Even when all his NYU co-workers pitched in and bought him a new bike (after his old one got crushed at Ground Zero), Fred couldn’t seem to shake his sadness. It was like he didn’t believe he’d done any good that day.

“All I did,” he said, “was drive a stupid bus.”

But that’s not all he did. Because remember Luz’s son?

Well, he showed up at my apartment not long after Jake and Shai and their parents did. Luz grabbed him and kissed him and shook him and cried, and when she finally let go of him, he told his story:

He had been heading towards — not away from – the towers, because he’d wanted to help, he said. A lot like Fred.

But suddenly, from out of nowhere, someone grabbed him from behind, and threw him onto a stupid bus.

“But I want to stay and help!” Luz’s son yelled at the guy who’d grabbed him.

“Not today,” Fred said.

And he drove Luz’s son, and all the other students from that community college to safety, just before the towers fell.

Now more than a decade has passed since 9/11. A year or two after finding that body, after the company he worked for got back on its feet, my husband decided financial writing wasn’t for him, and he decided to follow a lifelong dream: he enrolled in the French Culinary Institute in Manhattan. He got to work with chefs like Jacques Pepin. At his graduation, Michael Lamonaco–who ran Windows on the World, the restaurant at the top of the Twin Towers. Michael is another person who happened to be late to work on 9/11–offered him a job in his new restaurant.

My husband declined, however, because we were moving to Key West, where the pace of life is a little bit slower. Michael said he completely understood.

Luz and her son are doing fine. Fred is now married with two children, and head of his own division at NYU. Mr. Fluff did eventually die, but of natural causes. Jake is now in college, and Shai is skilled at many sports. Shai’s mother says her daughter has no memory whatsoever of that day, or of the conversation she and I had, or of the promise I made her — that we’d catch the bad guys.

Shai, however, says she does remember our conversation, and that I was right: we did catch the bad guys. There might still be some out there, because you can never catch of all them. But we’re trying.

Not long ago, someone asked an interesting question at a dinner party. If you could take a pill that would make you forget your worst memories, would you do it?

I don’t think I would. Though some pretty terrible things have happened to me in my life (that I prefer not to write about because for me, books are for fun, therapy is for the bad stuff), the memories of those things have helped shape who am I.

But though I’d prefer it 9/11 had never happened, I think it’s important that we always remember it. Because by forgetting history, we are dooming others – and ourselves – to repeat it. I never want it to happen again, in my or anyone else’s lifetime.

On September 24, you’ll be able to get your own copy! Or even sooner if you come to one of my events on my Bride Wore Size 12tour (click on the link, or see below for more info)!

(You can win a copy, too, by entering my Bride Wore Size 12 contest, but we won’t be drawing names until October 31, 2013, so you’ll have to wait awhile!)

Guess what else? You can click here to visit the official Bride Wore Size 12 page, read an excerpt, and check out some NEWLY POSTED EXTRAS! (Coming soon due to popular demand: Another Heather Wells rock video!)

Here’s a quick, newly updated list of all the events where I’ll be signing:

And don’t forget: There will be special updates from Heather and Cooper while they’re on their honeymoon in Europe! Look for postings from them on Instagram throughout the month of October.

And there’s still time to enter the Heather Wells Bride Wore Size 12 Sweepstakes! Become one of 45 lucky hostesses to win party favors and books to throw a Heather Wells Wedding Shower. Go here for all the details!

Here’s what a few reviewers have had to say (sorry, I can’t help it. Mysteries are the hardest stories in the world to write — for me anyway — and also my favorite books in the world to read—also TV shows to watch—so when I get a nice review for one I’ve written, I feel VERY VERY EXCITED!!!! AND I HAVE TO SHARE IT! IN ALL CAPS!!!!)

From Publishers Weekly:

Bestseller Cabot neatly blends crime, humor, and a touch of romance in her fifth Heather Wells whodunit (after 2012’s Size 12 and Ready to Rock). While handling the demands of freshmen orientation at Manhattan’s New York College, Heather also listens to parental complaints about room assignments at Fischer Hall, the student residence where she works as a supervisor. Recently popularized by the arrival of Crown Prince Rashid, Fischer Hall is also the site of the untimely death of a new resident adviser, Jasmine Albright. Heather works to fit together the pieces of the puzzle in Jasmine’s demise even as she continues to plan for her upcoming wedding to her dreamy fiancé, Cooper Cartwright. Multidimensional characters, from the dorm handyman to the arrogant yet elusive prince, are a plus, but it’s the simmering mystery behind the suspicious death that propels this installment to its surprising conclusion. (Oct.)

And from Booklist (I’m excerpting this one since most of it is a re-cap of the plot summary, which you just read, above):

Heather Wells is trying to juggle her wedding plans with registration week at the residence hall where she is assistant director. (She) rises above the craziness to take care of everyone and solve the crime in what is both an exciting mystery and surprisingly funny caper. Cabot splices realistic details of dorm life with humorous descriptions of wedding planning, along with rapid-fire, smart commentary on everything from hovering parents to women’s kills at target shooting….—Amy Alessio

Wow! Can you tell I’m VERY EXCITED ABOUT THIS BOOK?

Well, I have to go pack for my book tour now, but before I do, I know you’re probably wondering, what is with all those cute photos of that couple getting married? Who can they be? OK, I’ll tell you: They’re my brother and his new wife, who just got hitched in Mexico!!!! Margaritas for EVERYONE!!!!

It’s here! The new Heather Wells mystery, The Bride Wore Size 12, is in stores (and available as an e-book) in the US and Canada now!

And you know what that means:

Not only is justice once again being served by fiesty former teen popstar (turned assistant resident hall manager and soon-to-be bride) Heather Wells, but there’s also a new book trailer of her singing a never-before-released hit song (“Diamonds and Chains,” also known as The Bride Wore Size 12). Check it out here:

(With a little help from Meg Cabot, who had inspiration from the extraordinary marital musical team of Ann Larson and Michael Sohn—although writing song lyrics is not their day job . . . they’re professors!— with tweakage by Brady Hall. Brady also wrote the entire tune, played all the instruments, and produced and directed the video.

Q:Who sang the song?

A: A beautifully voiced angel sent from heaven to dazzle our ears.

Q:Who is that girl in the video?

A: Another angel put on this earth to entertain and delight us.

Q:Is she a size 12?

A: In her photos, the angel looked Heather Wells-size. On film day, it would have been as unfair to fire her for not being size 12 enough as it would have been to fire a different actress for not being a size 2. The whole point of the Heather Wells series (besides the fact that they are romantically and comically suspenseful mysteries), is that the heroine has come to love herself (and be loved by others) exactly the way she is.

One of my strongest desires is that all women and girls (and boys too!) learn to love themselves no matter what their size. I know my readers want the same thing.

Q: Meg, why didn’t you star in the video yourself?

I’m so flattered that you think I could play a 30-year-old blond popstar! But I like to leave this kind of work to the professionals, and reserve my energies for other things, which in this case meant getting ready for my Bride Wore Size 12 book tour, which has been AMAZING so far. Meeting readers never gets old.

This time I’ve also gotten to meet many cool authors, including Sharon Draper (I’ve met her before, actually, but she gets better every time) and Lauren Myracle (who I was sure I HAD met before, but I hadn’t) at the Brooklyn Book Festival.

I’ve also gotten to take a lot of photos with my Heather and Cooper wedding figurine from the book cover. They are accompanying me on my tour (until I or a TSA agent accidentally break their heads off).

If you’d like YOUR photo taken with Heather and Cooper (or with me, or you merely wish to get your copy of The Bride Wore Size 12 signed, or you wish to listen to me give my little talk which sometimes even includes a Power Point presentation, when I can get it to work), you can still see me at the following stops this week and weekend:

After my tour, I’ll be taking off with He Who Shall Not Be Named In This Blog, my mom, her boyfriend (some of you might remember him from such books as The Princess Diaries), his daughter and her husband, my brother and his wife for Paris, France. Then we’ll be heading on to Provence, so my mom can live her birthday dream of visiting Provence.

Don’t worry about Slutty-McSlut-Slut-A-Lot being alone at this time, though, we have a live-in professional cat sitter moving in while we’re gone who is trained in krav maga and will not be brooking any shenanigans from her.

Don’t forget: There will be special updates from Heather and Cooper while they’re on their honeymoon in Europe! Look for postings from them on Instagram throughout the month of October and also possibly coming soon as they cannot be controlled or kept in one country.

Okay, I could post links to all the freaking FANTASTIC reviews many of you bloggers have been giving to The Bride Wore Size 12 which I truly appreciate and will definitely be re-tweeting, but my plane is landing in MINNESOTA so instead I’m only going to say can’t wait to see you and: